The Basics
by slingading
Summary: A series of one-shots that will look into the life of Steve and Herobrine as they attempt to understand each other, and teach the other about their own way of life. In other words, what it means to be called "friend."
1. Farm Hand

**Hello all! This will be a part of a series of one-shots, all revolving around the normal and yet not so normal life of Steve and Herobrine, and focus on the aspects of each other's lives they end up teaching one another.**

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If someone had come up to him a year ago and told him he'd be not only spending time—willingly!—around a mortal but also helping said human care for simple farm animals, he would have executed them in the most brutal ways he knew how. Such a notion was ridiculous and he'd never allow himself to stoop so low to a human's level.

In hindsight, that reaction seems a bit...extreme. He of all people knows how much can change over the course of just one year, and he is even the prime example of that. Whereas a year ago he'd been doing whatever he pleased with no regard to the consequences, he now spends his time with the only human he finds acceptable enough to be graced by his continued presence. And he'll be the first to tell, living around a human for an entire year really opens one's eyes to life.

Maybe he'd been a human at one point, in the beginning. Human's live extraordinarily boring lives though, comparatively. How many venture out beyond the neighboring biomes? How many stay within the borders of "safety" they so believe in?

Perhaps that was one reason this particular mortal is preferable to the rest. The house he's built sits in a forest, just at the edge of some plains, which stretch on for hundreds of blocks in front of it. Behind the house, a few blocks into the forest opens up into a vast desert, equally as large as the plains opposite it. Quite a distance to the left there are large, towering mountains, and to the right there is a jungle, dangerous and untamed and, like the mountains, filled with resources. It is the perfect location for an adventurer such as this human, who surpassed his expectations long ago and continues to do so to this day.

The man, a young miner named Steve who prided himself on his excellent work ethic and his moral sense of right and wrong, used to live from biome to biome, enjoying the natural beauty that came with living not on but with the land. He'd found it odd at first that a human as sociable as Steve didn't want to live with other humans, but eventually chalked it up to one of the many oddities about the miner he'd just have to deal with.

But the biome hopping had occurred mostly before he'd even known of Steve's existence. It was a chance encounter that led to their inevitable fates. And the human would be dead right now if he was anyone else, but as a special surprise, Steve just had to be who he was. Not only did they share a striking physical resemblance, but for the first time in over a hundred years, the moment he's alone after meeting Steve, who decides to come down from their high horse in the Aether and attempt civil conversation? If the Aether Gods think they can simply waltz into his life again, they are sorely mistaken.

Because if there was one thing Herobrine hates more than anything else in this disgusting world, it's the Aether Gods and "The Almighty Creator" who thought themselves so much more important and better than everyone else. So what if Notch created the world? That didn't give him the right to do whatever he damn well pleased, not when Herobrine was punished for the same thing.

But these were problems stemming from his anger issues, as Steve called them, and the miner was trying his hardest to remedy them. Anger was often the trigger to any confrontation he had, but he feels they're always for a good reason. He was, if anything, a fair person. When he slates someone to die, they deserve it.

It's something they're working on. To the contrary of his initial belief, it is surprisingly easy to integrate himself into this human's routine. Maybe it was just Steve or maybe there's some cosmic force at work(that isn't Notch, that man could rot in the Nether), but whatever the case may have been, it's working for them.

There are some things, however, that he still detests participating in. Human rituals that seem meaningless, and Steve insists on his "help," but Herobrine doesn't know what Steve expects of him. He will do what he wants if it suits his fancy, and not a moment before.

That is precisely why he's standing to the side as Steve cares for some farm animals. A few chickens and two cows are all that he's managed to corral so far, but they provide a sufficient amount of food. For one person, a small farm is easy to care for and efficient. Steve didn't keep items in excess. If he needs something, he goes to get it, whatever it may be.

Case in point.

"Just come on, I need some sheep and it'll be nice having some company for once. Plus if you help, that means more sheep."

Herobrine crosses his arms and makes no attempt to move from his spot next to the house. "No."

Steve's mouth falls open in disbelief at Herobrine's abrupt response. "What! Why not? At least come with me, you don't have to do anything but I like having company." He clasps his hands together in a pleading notion, hoping that, for once, Herobrine will accept his invitation. Usually the man is stout in his denial of everything Steve considers "fun" or even just "sociable." It is often hard to change his mind as well, that he had learned in the beginning.

Herobrine narrows his eyes as he contemplates going along. He supposes that a want for company is an adequate reason to necessitate his presence. "Fine," he accepts, uncrossing his arms. "If you feel the need for company, I will join you. But I will not assist."

"That's fine, that's totally fine," Steve acquiesces, turning to spot the sun's course in the sky. The sun is just about to reach midday height, leaving plenty of time for them to search out a few sheep in the forest. "I've already got some wheat," Steve says, starting into the forest. "So let's go."

Herobrine follows, as promised, but makes no attempt at conversation. It is something that became clear to Steve fairly early on that if he wanted Herobrine to talk to him, in any capacity, the words have to be forced out through a continued effort. Steve rarely succeeds in that endeavor, but sometimes he is lucky. Maybe that luck is still with him.

Before he opens his mouth to start asking questions, he is surprised into silence by Herobrine instead asking him a question.

"To what purpose do these animals lend themselves?" He asks, keeping his gaze on the treeline. They've yet to spot any sheep, not something entirely uncommon. Sheep seem to either exist in large groups or not at all, which made it difficult to find and herd them into a suitable location. If either of them are going to see a sheep any time soon, it's going to be Herobrine.

"You mean why do I keep them?" Steve clarifies. Herobrine does not answer, which gives him all the answer he needs. "I do it because they're great resources. Chickens give me eggs, cows give me milk, and sheep give me wool, not to mention the meat they provide upon death." He shrugs, glancing around in search of sheep but there are none yet, so he turns back to look at Herobrine. A question rises to his tongue, one that's been on hims mind for a long time. He's in a constant debate with himself whether or not he should ask it. With so much time to spare, he decides perhaps now is perfect.

"Can I ask you a question?" Steve ventures, testing the waters. It will be a shame if Herobrine shuts him down before he can voice it, but it wouldn't be the first time. Such happened a lot when they first met. He's happy to see that since then, Herobrine was warmed up to him.

"You just did," Herobrine says. It is not the answer he expected but it's a good sign. Herobrine might humor him.

"Did you..." he pauses, suddenly wondering if this is a good idea. It is a bit of a personal question, something Herobrine has been successful at avoiding the months they've known each other. While he freely shares his past, he knows very little about the man next to him.

Herobrine turns his attention from the search to Steve when the miner doesn't continue. He can see a clear look of debate as Steve struggles to ask him a simple question. He frowns. "Are you going to ask me a question or have you changed your mind?"

Steve decides, to the Nether with it, he'll go on ahead and do it. "Did you ever do any of this?"

There is silence for a few seconds before Herobrine says, completely serious, "Walking?"

The force of his laughter has him bending double to support himself on his knees. It is such an unexpected response from someone like Herobrine that he can't help the laughs and giggles that come out of him. He laughs for nearly a whole minute before glancing up and catching sight of Herobrine's annoyed face, particularly the heavy downturn of his lips.

Steve stands back up and wipes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He knows this behavior annoys Herobrine but he can't help it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasps out, finally settling down.

"I don't see the humor in this," Herobrine replies tersely, glaring. At one point, that glare was enough to give him nightmares for days, but now he feels oddly safe in its presence. He wonders fleetingly when the distinction occurred to him, and when Herobrine in general stopped being a threat to his life and instead a misunderstood, lonely man.

"I know, I'm sorry, really. I meant did you ever have to look for resources like this, like what we're doing? Did you ever have to herd cows into a pin or mine for hours looking for diamonds?"

Herobrine's severe expression lightens as he and Steve continue walking through the forest. He hears sheep to their right and sets them on that path, all the while turning Steve's question over in his mind.

"You are asking if I ever did what you are doing at this time."

"Basically, yeah."

Herobrine thinks back to his past...and immediately wishes to destroy the forest. His past is one soaked in anger, fear, and revenge, and something he does not like thinking about. While he can never run from it, he has done his best to forget the pain that laces those images.

He and Steve walk up a small hill, where sheep mill about in peace. Steve looks at him for a few moments, expecting some sort of answer, and when he gets none he leaves Herobrine's side to hold some wheat out to them. The sheep flock around him, each trying to obtain the treat held high above Steve's head. With the sheep now in tow, Herobrine starts walking back towards the house. Finally, he speaks.

"I don't remember," he starts softly. "My past is not one I look back favorably upon. There have been moments in my life that would have driven a human to madness, but I persevere, as I always will." He concludes, ending that conversation. It is not the complete truth, but neither is it a total lie. He has indeed forgotten most of his past, save the events that had shaped him into what he was known to be at the present.

However, there are a few select memories he holds in reverence. They are buried because they bring him happiness, of all things, and a powerful sense of regret, at which point he ceases contemplating memories that should have been forgotten worlds ago.

He remembers opening his eyes to the blue sky above. He remembers gathering materials to build. The land, back then, was different, in a way that is almost impossible to describe. Whereas now there are jungles and mountains and snow, then there was nothing. Or, perhaps there was. He does not know, only that if there were different biomes, they were few and far between. He remembers still creating tools for the first time, and building his first house, to gain shelter at night from the elements.

Coming up to Steve's house now, he stops short while Steve shuffles into a newly created pen, the sheep following dutifully behind. Herobrine observes the house, and like before, notices the familiarity behind its walls. It reminds him of his own first house: sturdy, homely, safe. A haven to escape to when the world simply didn't understand.

He senses eyes on him and turns to see Steve staring at him, a small smile on his face, which grows when he notices Herobrine's attention has turned to him. He holds out the wheat in his hand, still causing the sheep to clamber over each other, desperate for the chance at food. "Are you sure you don't want to help?" Steve asks, hopeful. It is a trait of his that might have contributed to Herobrine's opinion about the miner. He was happy to be alive and lived his life to its fullest.

"I am sure...but perhaps I can observe," he adds when Steve's smile falls. The look of genuine sadness present on one human's face is enough to make him rethink his previous offensive actions, something that would have been laughable a few short weeks ago. What it is about Steve that triggers these responses is just one part to a complex and engaging puzzle he's looking forward to solving. One step at a time.

As per his word he walks over to the pen, safe from the insistent farm animals as they push themselves closer to Steve in a futile effort to acquire the wheat clasped in his hand. The sheep are just shy of trampling each other when Steve finally lowers his hand into the fray. Within seconds he is relieved of it. He laughs softly at their antics as the few unlucky sheep who did not get to savor the delicious treat nudge up against his stomach and sides, sniffing for more. Steve reaches down to open a chest just outside of the fence pen, glancing up.

"Oh," he mumbles, standing back up with more wheat. He feeds the noisy animals mindlessly as he watches the sun start its descent below the horizon. While the sunset is beautiful, there is a more troubling matter occupying his mind.

He ducks his head a bit as he turns to look at Herobrine, smiling sheepishly. "I think I know the answer, but can you help me? The sun went down much quicker than I anticipated, and I still have to feed the chickens and cows. We can split up, I'll take the cows if you take the chickens? It's real easy, I swear. All you have to do is take some seeds from this chest," he kicks it in emphasis, "and throw them to the chickens. Easy, right?"

Herobrine raises a brow as his eyes slide over to the chickens. They wander aimlessly in their pen, occasionally pecking briefly at the ground, no doubt searching for any remaining morsels from the last feeding.

"You wish for me to throw food at animals?"

A breathy laugh escapes Steve as he climbs over the fence, straightening out his ruffled clothes. "Not _at_ them, _to_ them. Just throw it on the ground, they don't care."

A fair point. "I suppose it would not hurt to assist."

"Thanks man," Steve says, that jovial smile appearing once more. As he turns to tend to the cows, Herobrine searches through the chest and finds the aforementioned seeds. While tossing a few to the chickens, he gets lost in the thoughts that consume his mind.

Steve's question from early has stayed with him, distracting him from the world. He stares absentmindedly at the clucking chickens scrambling for food, a scene from long, long ago flickering over his present.

Chickens, in much the style of pen, cluttering around a gate as he stands before them, seeds in hand. Their is mirth in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he feeds them, affection heavy in his heart for the simple animals. He had been truthful to a degree when answering Steve's question, but even he doesn't know whether or not what he's seeing is his actual past. The memories are buried under hundreds of years of survival and tribulation.

When he pulls himself out of his revelry, it's to Steve waving a hand in front of his face. There are still seeds in his hand, and he tosses them onto the ground before blinking and facing Steve.

"What?"

As he drops his hand, Steve turns to gesture to the plains ahead. Herobrine can see skeletons and zombies leaving the safety of the caves to roam the land freely, no longer in fear of bursting into flames. A few of the mobs would have approached them, if not for his own influence over them. They are right to be weary around him. Herobrine understands the unspoken words. Steve does not wish to be outside while the mobs are out. While he knows they won't bother him while Herobrine is near, every human is ingrained with fear of them. It is irrational at times and highly bothersome, but it is something Herobrine has come to accept, at least in regards to Steve.

"I just didn't want to leave you here," Steve says, fidgeting as the mobs keep their gazes on him. They do not truly see Herobrine, having eyes only for the human next to him.

"Of course. I'm...sorry for disturbing you," he concedes, following Steve to the house. As is a custom of theirs now, Herobrine bids Steve a good night before taking a seat outside, on an overturned log. From the Nether he has brought a single block of netherrack, which he light using a flint and steel. He does not need the heat nor the light, not with his advanced and superior sense, but he knows the mobs are doubly unlikely to come close with the roaring fires as a detriment.

He reflects back on the day, on his initial distaste for caring after useless creatures and Steve's question from before, which he cannot get out of his head. Never before has anything troubled him longer than he permitted, but his mind seems fit to fight against him on this matter.

Memories still try to push their way to the forefront of his mind, each vying for his attention. Images flash by, too quick to properly observe yet just slow enough so he can _see_, so he can recognize what once was.

These episodes are not new to him. Once every decade or so his mind is overwhelmed by the world around it, and turns into itself, seeking a comfort Herobrine tended to keep far, far away. It was weakness, and unacceptable.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of the few things in this realm that calm him, that make him feel at peace. The memories, wild now and nearly untamable, are forced back behind a wall of _cool breeze of the ocean, vast and great and free, a freedom he so enviously cherishes. The sky, blue, so blue and the clouds as they drift lazily in the wind, uncaring of where they end up. How can they stand to exist so unbothered by the world? And how can he learn to do the same?_ Unbidden, the image of Steve feeding the sheep and smiling that happy smile come to mind, and it is the last piece necessary to seal the unwanted memories back where they belong.

He glances back at the house and thinks of its single occupant, and smiles a small, secret smile. Today has been an education. He cannot wait to see what tomorrow brings.


	2. Monster Hunter

**Hello again! I know Minecraft is a smaller fandom than most so I appreciate each and every view, fav/fol, and review! I'm glad this is interesting to some people. Enjoy!**

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Even though he'd grown up mostly alone with only himself to watch his back, he remembers being told to fear the mobs that come out at night.

From the youngest of children to the wisest of elders, everyone seems to be born with that ingrained fear of the hostile mobs. And for good reason: they kill mercilessly.

Maybe that's what make this such a terrifying experience.

"I really don't like this," Steve says again, feeling unsafe and vulnerable without a sword in hand. It is midnight, and he and Herobrine are standing at the edge of the desert behind his house. The long barren stretches of land grant easy visibility, for both humans and mobs. To his extreme displeasure, Steve can see an abundance of skeletons, zombies, spiders, and creepers. The occasional enderman teleports into view, usually sticking around long enough to either deposit a block or pick one up before disappearing again.

"I know," Herobrine says simply, scanning the desert in front of them. There is a creeper not too far away, and a zombie and skeleton a little farther past it. Perfect. "And I do not care. You trust me, do you not?"

"Of course I do," Steve assures, fidgeting as he looks back at his sword. It, along with Herobrine's diamond one, is sticking out of the dirt a few blocks behind them. His mind is screaming at him to pick it up—death awaits for those who ventured into the night without a weapon. Even a wooden sword will offer some relief to the terror threatening to consume him.

"Then trust in my words when I say you'll survive," Herobrine says, finally turning away from the mobs to make eye contact with Steve. "I won't let any of them hurt you." Words have never been his strongest suit. He finds that, among humans, eye contact is the easiest way to get his sincerity across, although he knows that often people have trouble looking into his eyes. The fear in every movement of Steve's body easily displays just how unsure the miner is of this plan, however, so Herobrine tries to convey in a gentle look safety and trust. It is hard, but he does it for his friend.

"I trust you, really I do, it's just that...you know, when you're young people tell you to fear these mobs. I mean, they kill people for no reason!" Steve whispers, his voice distressed as the nearby creeper turns its head in their direction.

Herobrine steps to the side, so as to make a clear path between Steve and the creeper. The miner has been, perhaps unconsciously, inching behind him, away from the desert and the mobs. "Then be happy knowing I'm here now to tell you otherwise."

Steve's protests—because he still has many, this idea is _crazy_—are cut off when Herobrine gives him a hard push forward, towards the creeper. His breathing picks up when he regains his balance, and he fears he might start hyperventilating if he gets any closer. He starts walking backwards, very slowly so as to not startle the mob, but a hand on the center of his back keeps him in place, and even pushes him forward a bit.

"Nope, I change my mind," Steve says, trying to turn away from the approaching mob but there are two hands on both his shoulders now, keeping him facing forward in a grasp stronger than obsidian. The creeper is unbelievably close now, closer than he would ever consider getting even with fully enchanted diamond armor. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the inevitable explosion kills him instantly instead of leaving him to suffer.

A few seconds go by, the odd silence only interrupted by the wind rustling some trees and dead bushes. But there is no tell-tale hiss. He hears a sigh before Herobrine says, his voice exasperated, "Open your eyes, Steve."

Steve opens one eye first, reluctantly, then the other when he sees a sight he would have never thought possible. A creeper is standing in front of him, close enough that he only needs to barely reach an arm out to touch it. The explosive mob is standing calmly, no hissing, no glowing nor expanding. It's standing like they aren't even there.

"What's wrong with it?" Steve asks quietly, as if any sudden movement or sound will trigger the mob.

"It knows that should it attack it will be killed immediately, and its efforts for naught," Herobrine answers, letting go of Steve's shoulders. He has a feeling Steve will no longer flee, not if he can stand in front of a creeper and not pass out. Besides, he's curious to see if his assumptions about Steve and other mobs is correct. It certainly proves true with the passive mobs of the daylight.

Steve stands up straighter and takes this rare opportunity to inspect the mob. It looks just as deadly up close than it does from a great distance—probably more so.

"So it won't attack?" Steve asks, a hint of fear still lingering in his voice.

"No."

"Huh," Steve mutters to himself. Like any sensible human being, Steve has only seen creepers from a distance. On a few occasions he's had to get too close for comfort to fight them off, but normally he stays very clear of the deadly mob. This is, possibly, a once in a life time opportunity.

The creeper continues to act as if they don't exist, twisting its head around to scan the land for any wayward travelers. It side steps them and walks away.

Steve lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, watching the creeper's back as it shuffles away from him. That was both exhilarating and traumatizing.

"On to the next then," Herobrine says, putting his hand on Steve's back to urge the miner forward. Despite the positive turn of that encounter, he still half expects Steve to turn and flee any moment.

The creeper is one thing—it usually keeps out of sight, preferring to sneak up behind its victims before detonating. Zombies, on the other hand, seem to enjoy getting up close and personal, and Steve has had plenty of experience dealing with the undead mob. They are by far the most common mob, and while they can hear the pounding of one's heart from several blocks away, their wretched stench can be detected from double that amount.

They stop a fair amount of distance away, a zombie swiveling their direction and starting to trudge over. Herobrine takes this opportunity to tell Steve something he is sure the miner won't appreciate. But hey, the guy's lucky he has any warning at all.

"Now, some warning with this one," Herobrine says, silently amused by the alarmed expression on Steve's face. "Unlike the creepers, who are among the smarter of the mobs, zombies are less influenced by my presence."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning it very well might try to kill you."

"What!?" Steve whispers harshly, almost yelling the word before deciding that quiet is much smarter. He would try to run but he's well aware that Herobrine is A: much, _much_ faster than him and B: way stronger than he looked. If the heavy hand on his shoulder is anything to go by, Herobrine is anticipating his reaction to this little 'meet-and-great' they're doing.

"Relax," Herobrine says with mirth, and Steve can just imagine the smug grin on his face as he enjoys watching this torturous experience. "I'm only joking, isn't that what friends do?"

"Not when it's life or death!"

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before befriending me. All moments with me could be life or death."

Steve glares at Herobrine over his shoulder. "You're not funny."

Herobrine shrugs, looking past Steve to see the zombie a few blocks away. He drops his hand and steps back.

Steve almost asks what Herobrine's doing before remembering that there's a zombie coming towards them. He turns back around and comes face to face with it.

He feels like he's been struck by lightning, shock filling his body and making his movements still; even his breathing slows. He doesn't dare move a muscle, afraid that should he, the zombie will attack him.

As he stands there, the zombie is busy inspecting him. Now he can see why Herobrine had moved away: the zombie is walking circles around him. Whatever influence Herobrine has over these mobs, it is making him, a human, something else to these creatures. Does the zombie not recognize him as food, like they normally do?

It wouldn't have been so bad if the zombie had kept its hands to itself. But as fate will have it, the universe apparently hates him today, as the zombie grabs one of his arms and lifts it. The cold, dead feel of the zombie's hand on his arm is just about enough to make him sick, but the pure surreality of this encounter is enough to stave off his urge to turn tail and flee.

He's been grabbed by zombies before, usually when he's busy mining and tunes out the world around him, giving the mobs the perfect opportunity to get the jump on him. They aren't fast or strong, but they are determined, and there are a lot of them. There is strength in numbers, after all.

But this is nothing like those times. Those zombies had been hunting him down with the intent to kill and devour, but this one is acting like a child experiencing a new phenomenon for the first time. It doesn't try to bite him, despite having his arm inches from its face, nor does it try to rip him limb from limb. For being brainless, the zombie seems smarter than he'd ever have thought. He wonders how much of the zombie's behavior is truly its own, and how much is being influenced by Herobrine.

"Are you aware that you can speak to mobs?" Herobrine asks out of the blue, coming to stand beside him. The zombie lets go of his arm and turns to look at Herobrine, but makes no move to reach out and touch him.

"Really?" Steve says, taken by surprise at that bit of information.

"Yes. Here." Herobrine holds out a simple wooden stick, which Steve takes, eyeing it with confusion. "Throw that and tell it to fetch it for you."

Still confused but now slightly intrigued, Steve holds the stick up until it catches the mob's attention. He then throws the stick over the zombie's head. Lazily, the zombie's eyes follow it, its head turning at odd angles to keep up with the stick's flight through the air until it lands a few blocks away.

"Uhhh...bring me that stick?" Steve says uncertainly, more a question than a command but to his surprise—and amazement—the zombie spins on its heels and walks toward the stick. It takes a few tries to grab the stick, but once it is solidly in the zombie's hand, the stick is brought back to him, held in front of his face until he takes it. "Wow," he breathes. It's an eye-opener to see a mob act this way, like a dog eager to follow commands. "I had no idea they could be like this," he says, throwing the stick again. This time the zombie doesn't wait to be commanded, instead turning and fetching the stick again. Steve laughs a little, the sound perhaps the tiniest bit crazed. Is this some kind of strange dream, or maybe a hallucination? This can't be reality.

"Humans often fear things they do not understand," Herobrine comments softly, watching the zombie demean itself by acting like an overeager dog for a human.

Steve's smile fades as he thinks over Herobrine's words. "Yeah, I know how that feels," he mumbles, more to himself but Herobrine can hear perfectly fine, and chooses not to comment. Among the long list of things he and Steve have in common, their unwillingness to talk about their pasts seems to be at the top.

Sensing a change of pace needed, once the zombie returns with the stick Herobrine takes it and burns it in his hand until only ashes remained. "Begone now," he commands, and the zombie stares at him for a few seconds, the dumbest and emptiest of looks on its face before it turns and walks away.

"Are we done?" Steve asks, his voice hopeful. While he is pleasantly surprise by the outcome of these meetings, he still shivers at the thought of being face to face with the mobs he's grown up fearing.

"Just one more, perhaps, to prove to you that all is not what it seems," Herobrine says cryptically. He knows that the next mob he needs is in sight, and also that Steve is going to like this less than the creeper. "Do you see that enderman over there?" He points toward it.

"Oh, please no," Steve begs, closing his eyes and refusing to look. "Come on, seriously? Why?"

"What's this?" Herobrine feigns surprise. "Is there truly something in this world you fear? I though you feared nothing."

Steve frowns, still keeping his eyes closed. "I never said that," he mumbles, crossing his arms. "You should know that yes, there is something I fear. Everyone fears death! There's no way I'm looking at an enderman. That's asking to die."

"No, throwing mud at me after helping you tend to livestock is asking to die, and yet here you are, alive and well."

"Hey, you got your revenge for that, buddy. And I said I was sorry!"

"And I forgave you."

"Yeah well, coating me in mud from head to toe is a funny way of showing it."

"You should not have thrown mud at me in the first place."

Steve opens his eyes to glare at the amused smile across from him. Before he can speak in retaliation, a familiar and deadly sound interrupts him. Herobrine's looking up, over his head, and that can only mean one thing.

"As you can see, I am unharmed," Herobrine says. He returns his gaze to Steve. "This will be the last one, then I promise we can go home. Is that satisfactory?"

"No of course not!" Steve says, near hysterics. Boy can Herobrine be stubborn when he wants to be. Just his luck that _something_ involves dangerous killer mobs. But...he really does want to go home. Sighing in defeat, he takes a deep breath and musters up enough courage to turn around.

He still keeps his gaze just off the enderman, who is now standing fairly close to him. There's a block of sand in its hands, and it appears to be in a trance-like state as it holds it. Psyching himself up in his head, he shifts his eyes the slightest amount over, enough to gaze, for the first time, directly at the rough black skin of an enderman.

He almost screams out in panic when the enderman's head snaps down to look at him. Its body starts shaking, and his does too, an innate fear of death kicking in. However, after a few seconds, the shaking suddenly stops and the enderman resumes staring out into space, still holding that block.

This time he's been holding his breath and finally starts breathing easier now that the enderman doesn't appear to want to kill him. Endermen are one of those mobs that no one wants to encounter, especially not in a mine were it is hard to _not_ gaze at them. They like to stand in the middle of pathways, and while touching them does nothing, direct eye contact has signed many people's death warrants before.

"See?" Herobrine says, clapping him on the shoulder. The tense atmosphere makes Steve easy to startle, and he jumps, his heart racing a mile a minute. "I told you that everything would be fine." They turn around and start walking back towards Steve's house. "As long as I'm nearby, mobs will act as if you don't exist."

"Well let's hope I never get lost in a mineshaft then," Steve says, only half joking, and the strain of the night's events is evident in his voice. He's still in a state of shocked disbelief—mostly because he can't believe he's just stared at an enderman and is still alive.

As they return to the house, Steve thinks that, while he won't stop killing mobs if they attack him, he knows that, after this, he'll feel bad about it. Maybe he'll let the mobs not bothering him live instead of shooting them with an arrow. However, despite his poor heart being put through all that stress, he feels kind of glad Herobrine has forced him through that. He has a better understanding about the hostile mobs and how they aren't always out to kill him, but while he is sure of that, he knows that should Herobrine ever not be in the immediate area, those same mobs will hunt him down without a moment's notice and do it without a care in the world. And that's okay, because he feels lucky to be one, if not the only, human aware that mobs of the night aren't entirely what they seem.

Much like the strange man he now calls friend.


	3. Potion Masters

**Sorry this took so long, the next one should be on its way soon. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I don't think you know quite as much as you claimed," Herobrine comments, sitting patiently on the stairs. He's watching Steve run around, collecting various items from chests and the gardens outside. He knows what Steve's trying to accomplish, and he also knows it was being done in the least efficient way possible.

"You're crazy, I know exactly what I'm doing," Steve says distractedly, a pile of glass bottles in his arms. He has to be careful while walking lest he trip and ruin all his progress. Despite there being an entire desert behind his house, he rarely makes time to collect sand for bottles. Making them is hardly the worst part of potion making however, and now he's starting to get to the intricate stuff.

"Is that why there's a spider eye in the furnace?" Herobrine asks smugly, eyeing the device. It is turned off at the moment, and has been since Steve had stuffed the eye into it.

Steve sits all the bottles down gently so as to not break any, and turns around. "I thought...Isn't that right?" He asks, frustrated. He walks over to the furnace and yanks the door open. Sure enough, the eye is sitting there, unperturbed, the coal beneath it cold and unused. "What the Nether, how is this wrong?"

"Have you ever actually made a potion before?" Herobrine finally asks, as he should have done in the beginning of this fiasco. Nevertheless, he could help Steve...but he chooses not to, partially because he enjoys the entertainment and also because Steve had assured him he knew exactly what he was doing. While obviously not the case, he stays out of the brewing process. He also might have failed to mention he knows how to brew potions.

"Uhhhhmmm...no."

"That much is clear," Herobrine says, walking over to the furnace and taking the eye out. He gathers a brown mushroom and some sugar from a nearby chest, making sure Steve's watching before combining the ingredients on the crafting table. He then hands the now fermented spider eye to Steve. "Why do you not go to a village? Surely buying a potion would be easier than making one, especially with how little knowledge you have on the subject."

As he holds the squishy eye, Steve's previous joy at having it fades. "Oh, you know," he says offhandedly, returning to the table with the bottles. He sits the eye down and starts filling the bottles with water from the cauldron next to him. He can feel Herobrine staring at him, waiting for an answer he isn't willing to give. "I just think it's more beneficial to learn potion brewing myself, that's all. No need to spend my hard earned emeralds on simple potions, right?"

Herobrine frowns and returns to his seat on the stairs, leaving the conversation at that. He's noticed that every time he brings up the subject of other humans, especially villages, Steve becomes oddly and uncharacteristically withdrawn. He looks like he's uncomfortable with every mention, and always finds ways to shut the conversation down or change the subject quick enough to avoid the original question. It both bothers and frustrates him. He isn't stupid—something happened in Steve's past which has resulted in this behavior, and what bothers him is that Steve isn't willing to share that information.

But, maybe he shouldn't be one to judge. After all, when Steve asks him about his own past, he remains silent, or plainly says he doesn't wish to speak of it.

He sits in silence, watching Steve fill bottles with water, the miner's mood slowly returning to normal the more he checks the notes he's gathered. One benefit of having him as a friend, Steve likes to boast, is that theoretically, anything he could want is at his fingertips. Herobrine has his own personal stash of items he's collected over decades, precious metals and blocks of all kinds sitting wasted in chests deep underground. He collects items he has no use for, taking them simply because he can. Some such items are books from strongholds, their pages filled with knowledge from the ancient humans, whose techniques for building still influence the structure of modern day projects. But it is their potion knowledge which is greatly helping Steve in learning the basics of what he needs to do.

Steve has spent the last few days tirelessly gathering all the supplies he needs, from spider eyes to redstone dust to melons. The book mentions various items he's never even heard of before, however, like glowstone and nether wart. Luckily, Herobrine has intimate knowledge of where to obtain such items, and had retrieved them. It hadn't been hard for Steve to conclude that these items resided in the Nether, a realm he's only ever read about.

Potion making is something he's always wanted to try but never got around to tinkering with. He's always in the need for more diamonds and iron, after all, so mining takes up a vast majority of his time. But lately he's been feeling adventurous, and finally he decides to try his luck at brewing. He's heard the benefits these potions wielded are worth the amount of time it takes to make them.

"Okay," he says. "So I take these," he places three bottles of water on the three slots at the bottom of the stand. "And then I take this," he skims his notes a bit, making sure he understands correctly, "and just touch the rod with it?" He does so, and the moment the nether wart makes contact with the blaze rod it dissolves into dust in his hand, and the rod changes colors from yellow to a dark red. "Wow," Steve says, fascinated. How the ancient humans had figured this out is beyond him.

From his spot on the stairs Herobrine rolls his eyes. Humans are so easily entertained.

Steve watches as the blaze rod slowly returns to normal, a heat emanating from it as the nether wart is drained into the three bottles. His notes say that once the rod becomes yellow again, the potion is ready for the next step.

"Is it done?" He asks. "It looks the same as before."

"Yes, it is done," Herobrine answers, unable to help himself. Maybe a little help will be alright.

"That's weird," Steve mutters. Now he has to decided what potion he wants to make. One in particular catches his attention. A potion of invisibility, which requires a golden carrot and a fermented spider eye. He has one eye at the ready, so he decides to go with that one.

There are three golden carrots in the pile of stuff next to him. He grabs one and, with instructions from his notes, chops the carrot into little bits before putting it into one of the bottles. The liquid inside instantly started bubbling, like it's being heated, and darkens in color just barely. When the bubbling stops he, with some reluctance, squeezes the spider eye over the bottle, making sure to get the juice into the liquid. A sizzling sound accompanies the change this time, the dark blue color lightening to a light gray. According to his notes, he now has one potion of invisibility.

"I must congratulate you for making a successful first potion," Herobrine says, clapping in a way that is, by no means, sarcastic. He is slightly impressed, though; he's been witness to many potion failures, often with disastrous results. And on one or two occasions those fails had been his fault but hey, a guy has to have fun, right?

"So it'll work?" Steve asks. Despite following the instructions, he doesn't know if he wants to test the potion himself, especially since he has to drink it. What if he's done something wrong and the potion ends up poisoning him? That's something that can happen, right? "Would you mind testing it?" Steve asks. He wants to know if the potion works, but he doesn't want to die.

"I suppose there's no harm in that," Herobrine says, utterly failing at keeping himself out of the process. Knowing that the potion will work without a problem, he takes it from Steve and downs its content. A second later he disappears from sight.

"It works!" Steve crows. This opens up a whole new world for him! There are potions of strength, potions of healing—there's even a potion that would let him breath underwater! But wait...

"How long does it last for?" He asks. He jumps, startled, when he hears Herobrine's voice off to the side, not in front of him where he's expecting.

"It depends on the potion. The one you just made should only last a few minutes before wearing off, but its effects can be lengthened to almost ten minutes by using redstone."

"Wow, this is so cool." Steve turns back to the brewing stand. The other two potions are still sitting there, and he decides to try the same potion again, this time with a longer effect. He repeats the carrot and spider eye steps, consulting his notes along the way, just to be safe. According to them and like Herobrine mentioned, redstone adds time to the potion's effects while glowstone increases the potion's power. He picks up a palm full of redstone dust and deposits an equal amount into both potions. They crackle for only a moment before returning to normal.

"Why don't you try making a splash potion?" Herobrine suggests. He smiles a bit in amusement when Steve jumps, as he is still invisible. "All you need is gunpowder." Though they are friends, he doesn't feel bad about what he has planned.

"A splash potion? Hmm," Steve hums as he reads through his notes. A splash potion, according to them, does not need to be drunk, but can instead be thrown and will supply the same effect. Handy if he wants to poison someone, or heal quickly with an instant health or regeneration potion. "Okay, just add gunpowder?" He asks at large, dropping a handful into one of the potions. The bottles starts shaking violently for a few seconds before calming. He lifts it to his face to examine it. It doesn't look any different.

"Do you still wish for me to test it for you?" Herobrine asks from...somewhere. Steve can't be sure where the guy is, not when the invisibility potion's effects are still active.

"I...yeah, I guess." Steve holds out the bottle, fascinated when it seemingly lifts from his hand all on its own. But just as it leaves his grasp it is flung through the air towards his feet. He can't run quick enough to escape of the liquid bursts from the bottle and coats his clothing. It's quickly absorbed into his skin and clothes.

"Ah! What was that for!?" He yells, shocked. He can only hear laughter, however, as Herobrine is still invisible. "And how are you still invisible? Does the potion really last for that long?"

"It will wear off any moment now," Herobrine supplies, and already Steve can see his image slowly fade back to opacity. There's a wicked smile on his face. "Your potion, however, will last for much longer."

"So you can't see me?" Steve smiles, an idea forming in his head. Time for pay back.

"...No."

Steve stifles his laughter as he slowly walks toward Herobrine, who is looking at the door, on the opposite side of the room. He's just about to act when Herobrine suddenly turns and catches his hand, just as it was about to startle him.

"What!" Steve gapes, eyes wide in disbelief and voice laced with disappointment. "How did you do that, you said you couldn't see me!"

Herobrine lets him go. "Just because you are invisible doesn't mean I cannot sense your presence. You give me far too little credit, my friend."

Steve's shoulders slump. "You're no fun."

"On the contrary," Herobrine says, walking over to the brewing stand. Curious, Steve follows behind. "I will show you something that I often did when I was bored."

Herobrine proceeds to make a different potion, this one involving sugar and glowstone, then gunpowder. The resulting potion is light blue, and instead of throwing it, he gathers all three and goes outside. Steve follows, silent but wondering. They walk around the house, were they find a wild cow eating grass.

"Observe," Herobrine says, and throws one of the potions at the cow's feet. Startled, the cow jumps and takes a step to run away...only to be propelled forward at an abnormally fast speed.

"What the Nether!" Steve says, bubbling laughter rocking his frame as the poor cow struggles with its newfound speed. It settles for running in circles until it tires itself out, choosing then to slump to the ground, mooing tiredly. Herobrine watches as Steve laughs and feels a wave of peace wash over him. Is this what having friends is like? How much did he miss in his rage and hate driven past?

"Let's go," Herobrine says, turning back towards the house. "I'll show you how to make some more potions."

Wiping the tears from his eyes and still a little giddy from the cow's unfortunate mishap, Steve follows behind his friend, eager to learn more.


	4. Redstone Rage

**Because the last chapter took so long, I'm posting this one already. Enjoy!**

* * *

Twenty minutes ago, it had been funny. An hour ago, it had been downright the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen.

Now, it's just painful to watch.

For the last hour and a half, Steve has sat in the same spot against the side of his house, watching first in gleeful anticipation and then later in sympathy at Herobrine attempting to wire together a "simple" redstone machine. The man now stalks back and forth in front of his broken creation, muttering under his breath what are most likely threats and curses. Herobrine, no matter what he says in rebuttal, does not have much patience with tasks such as this, and that had been made clear the second his machine refused to work correctly for him.

Steve wants to help, and he would have from the beginning, but if Herobrine is clueless when it comes to redstone, Steve is brain dead. He knows it glows and can carry a charge of some sort. That's about the extent of his knowledge.

So Herobrine's attempt has not gone totally in vain, not for Steve at least. Herobrine, despite his growing frustration and agitation, has been in quite the giving mood, answering any question Steve can think up, and not with a glare. He's learned what a dropper is and how it works, as well as information about each of the different types of rails there are. He understands the fine red dust better now, but still doesn't fully grasp the purpose of a repeater or comparator. Thinking about it gets his thoughts in a twist and makes his head hurt.

Steve has to commend Herobrine though. He probably would have given up to figure it out another day, but Herobrine refuses to leave it unfinished.

Steve sighs and shakes his head at Herobrine's stubbornness. He notices the sun going down and knows that Herobrine would rather figure out his mechanism than rest for the night. Ever since Herobrine had forced him to confront the mobs at night, he finds he's not as uncomfortable being out at night. He doesn't feel at home, like Herobrine does, but he doesn't want to run screaming anymore either.

Still, night gets cold.

"Maybe we should try again tomorrow...?" Steve ventures, eyeing the sunset. He turns back to look at Herobrine.

"If you want to retire for the night, do so. I will remain here." Herobrine remains with his back towards him, arms crossed tightly against his chest. His anger is palpable in the air.

"Um...okay, sure," he relents, standing up. "Good luck," he says before retreating into his house to sleep the night away.

He's woken up by an explosion and a loud yell of anger.

He sits up, gasping and scrambling to get out of bed, only to get tangled in the bedsheets. He topples over and nearly knocks himself out, but manages to kick the offending sheets away and run out the door.

He's not sure what to expect, but he can say for sure that it's not the large crater in his front yard. For a moment he's not sure if Herobrine is even still around, but then he hears a long, drawn out sigh coming from within the hole. Taking a few steps forward, he peers down into it, bringing a hand to his mouth in a poor attempt to not laugh.

Herobrine is standing in the center of the crater, the remains of his redstone machine laying in pieces around him. He's covered head to toe in a layer of redstone dust and dirt, the only distinguishable feature about him visible the intense glow of his white eyes. He doesn't look happy.

"Is everything...okay?" Steve asks, hesitant. To him, it's funny and amazing to see Herobrine, of all people, in situations like this, but he knows when to laugh and when to keep it to himself. If Herobrine is truly angry, laughing will only exacerbate his temper.

"No."

Herobrine's suddenly not in the crater and instead standing right next to him, fists clenched tightly together. Without another word he turns and starts stalking into the forest.

"Wait, where are you going!" Steve calls out. Herobrine, not bothering to answer, simply walks away.

Steve huffs and eyes the giant eyesore in front of his house. Well, Herobrine's not going to clean it up, is he? Dang guy.

The rest of the day continues by in a slow, easy pace. Steve fixes the hole, harvests from his farms, and feeds his animals. He then paces about his house, totally not worrying about where Herobrine is or what he could be doing. That definitely doesn't happen.

...Except it does and he stops. Growing up, he never had many friends. Maybe when he was a young boy he had one or two, but he honestly can't remember but it's okay. It's been just him all his life and he's happy, he is. Whether it be mining or farming or fishing or fighting, he can't say he wishes there was someone there with him. In the absence of a good connection with other humans, Steve's always believed that he connects better to nature, but Nether if he can explain why. All he knows is that watching other humans build through the land instead of with it has always disgusted him. How could anyone destroy the natural beauty of their world?

Maybe he's not meant to fit in with them.

Much like Herobrine.

He'd never of thought but he's becoming so...dependent on another person. He doesn't necessarily need Herobrine around, but he wants it. Having someone to talk to, or mine with, or just hang out with, feels right, even if the person in question is someone like Herobrine, who gets angry a lot and is prone to rage induced outbursts. And not to mention his tendency to leave without an explanation.

But Steve knows that Herobrine won't just abandon him, because he fully believes that their friendship actually means something to Herobrine, like it does to him.

So he can't help but worry when night descends and Herobrine isn't back yet. But with no way to contact him and no way of knowing when Herobrine will come back, Steve can do nothing but retire to bed, hoping that tomorrow his friend will return.

He doesn't wake up to an explosion, so that's something. He gets up and pulls his clothes on, worry festering in the back of his head. But he forces himself to eat some breakfast and not run outside to see if Herobrine is back. He can handle being on his own for a short amount of time, he did it all his life after all.

Still, there's a certain amount of anticipation he can feel when he opens the door. And to his surprise and relief, Herobrine is back.

He's standing where the large crater had been previously, the remains of the broken redstone device off to the side. New redstone contraptions lay at his feet, and his attention is directed towards the book in his hands.

Although he desperately wants to say something, he restrains himself, as well as forces himself to walk to Herobrine's side, looking at all the complicated redstone components on the ground.

"...Is everything...okay?" Steve asks. He notices that his friend is no longer covered in redstone and dirt.

"Yes, all is well," Herobrine responds calmly, his tone lacking the anger from yesterday morning. But he leaves it at that.

Steve wants to ask—demand—where he went after storming off into the forest, but he can't force the words out. All that really matters is that his friend is back, and that serves to reinforce his belief that Herobrine finds _some_ value in their friendship.

"What is all this?" Steve asks. There's a peculiar block in particular that intrigues him. It looks to be made of glass and has a vaguely brownish color to it, or maybe a faint red.

"It's...a surprise, I suppose would be an adequate description."

Steve stops and turns round, eyebrows raised in shock. Did he just hear right? Herobrine's holding the book up higher, blocking the view of his face. If Steve didn't know better, he'd say Herobrine's experiencing something very human right now, namely the hot rush of blood to his cheeks from embarrassment. It's so _human_ and endearing that Steve can't keep the smile off his face.

"For who?" He asks, though he knows. It's impossible to school his expression into something less telling.

Herobrine pulls the book down and there is indeed the faint remains of a blush, and he doesn't look happy about it, judging by the glare. "Do not play games with me. Who else in the world would I be referring to?"

"Oh right, right," Steve agrees, nodding his head as if he didn't already know. Sometimes he gets a thrill out of being able to act in such a way towards Herobrine. Who else got to say they'd back sassed the guy and lived to tell about it?

He turns back to the assortment. "Seriously, what is all this stuff?"

"That would ruin the surprise."

"Oh wow you were serious. Uh, okay, can you at least tell me where you got it? I was...I mean I wasn't worried when you disappeared yesterday, I'm just curious. Is all."

Herobrine closes the book and faces him fully, and now suddenly Steve wishes he had something to cover his face with. At times like these Steve gets the distinct feeling he's being examined and judged all in one look, and it never ceases to set his teeth on edge, especially under the harsh scrutiny of _those_ eyes. But then the intensity of his stare diminishes into something softer.

"I apologize if my abrupt absence concerned you at all. I didn't...realize until I'd left that you would most likely worry—needlessly, but I understand it is a human trait I cannot fault you on. To answer your question, I traveled to a distant land to seek the advice of those more practiced in this art."

Steve cocked his head. "Art?"

"Redstone."

"Ah. But you were gone all day _and_ night. Are these people really that far away?"

"It would take several days worth of travel on horseback in the Nether to reach their home."

"Wha—days!? But that's so far!" Steve exclaims. The distance is nearly enough to blow his mind. As Herobrine had explained to him when they'd first met, the Nether does not work quite like the Overworld. Time and space seem to slip by one another, making it an advantageous but dangerous way to travel. Days of travel in the Nether could equal weeks of travel in the Overworld.

"Yes, and it is for the best. They live isolated because they are not like other humans."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm afraid I cannot say."

Steve rolls his eyes, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. "Why, because it would ruin their lives? Like that's ever stopped you before."

He's rewarded with a rare genuine smile and a chuckle in return. "You are not wrong my friend. But it is not so much that I won't tell you than it is I am physically unable to speak the words. I am bound by an oath even I cannot break."

Steve scratches his head, still trying to comprehend just how far away these people live. "Sounds like some heavy stuff."

"It is indeed."

"So I guess...I'll just...leave you to it then." Steve flashes a quick smile and even puts his hand on Herobrine's shoulder, something he usually would hesitate to do, but it just feels right. "I'm glad you're back."

To his relief Herobrine doesn't shrug his hand off, so that's something. "Again, I apologize for causing you undue stress. But it is nice to know there is a place I am always welcome, and that someone cares for my well-being."

Steve shrugs. "That's what friends are for, right?" He pats Herobrine on the shoulder and returns to his house, eager for his surprise.

It takes strength of will, but Steve manages to not peak outside the house at all, leaving Herobrine to construct his redstone contraption in relative peace.

The day slowly recedes to night, and with the knowledge that his friend is back, Steve sleeps much easier this time around.

Morning comes and goes, and soon Steve finds himself standing in front of his surprise.

"What is it?"

"Why don't you take these," Herobrine instructs, holding out some seeds, "and drop them onto the tilled dirt?"

"Uh, okay?" Steve takes the seeds and does just that. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the dirt raises up with a quick motion, the sound of pistons firing accompanying it. He also hears the click of dispensers, and suddenly there's more seeds and a fully grown piece of wheat laying on the ground.

"What...?" Steve whispers, taking a step back. He spins to face Herobrine, shock clear on his face. "What happened?"

"Why don't you try again?"

With more enthusiasm, Steve takes the seeds and drops them onto the dirt. It repeats its processes and now two pieces of wheat and even more seeds are laying on the ground. "What!"

"I believe they call it an automated farm," Herobrine says as Steve picks up the two pieces of wheat and examines them like they don't actually exist, and he fully expects them to disappear right before his very eyes. But as the seconds tick by nothing happens, and he remains speechless.

"Is it...satisfactory?" Herobrine asks, rather timidly. Steve just looks at him and then the wheat, then back at Herobrine, mouth hanging open as he struggles to find words. Herobrine feels slightly self-conscious for the first time in a long time, and has to ruthlessly suppress the urge to start rambling.

When he opens his mouth to do just that, he's shocked into silence when arms are suddenly thrown around his shoulders and a body is far closer to him than he believes he's comfortable with. He stiffens, unsure how to react.

He's being hugged.

It's something he knows humans do and he's seen them do it far more than he can count. But it's not something he fully understands, and now, experiencing it, he thinks perhaps he knows why humans do it. It's...not unpleasant.

Before he can do anything, Steve is releasing him and turning back to the wheat farm, a wide and excitable smile plastered on his face as he puts seeds in the dirt again and again, marveling over the face that this machine produces wheat at a rate far quicker than a normal wheat farm. Herobrine hopes that with this, some of Steve's burdens of caring for a house, and animals, and farms, is lessened, even if only somewhat.

"Wow...wow! This is amazing!" Steve says, holding an armful of wheat. His whole being is radiating happiness and it's a new experience but Herobrine enjoys seeing his friend so happy—even more so that he's the cause of it.

"I am glad it works." He knows it would, of course, given the very clear and precise instructions in the book.

"I'm going to have so much wheat! I don't even know what I'm going to do with it all."

"That is its function."

"Oh man, I—" Steve stops to take a breath and looks at him. "Thank you. Really."

"You are welcome. Now let's go find a place for all this wheat."

And that's what they do.


	5. We Were Never Welcomed Here(I)

**If the last couple chapters have been "feel good" then this chapter dives straight into the deep end of angst and hurt/comfort. Just as a warning, there is some blood and violence but not a lot, nor is it very descriptive. Enjoy!**

* * *

The warm rays of the overhead sun are a welcome comfort as he lounges on Steve's roof. Herobrine doesn't often get time alone, not anymore, and he finds that he's okay with that. Whereas before he scoffed at the very idea of company, now he wishes for it, needs it almost. So much has changed that he's beginning to remember what he was like in the start. He can't recall the last time he terrorized someone just for the Nether of it, and finds he doesn't want to waste his time anyway. Despite living in a secluded area, Steve is quite adept at finding adventure, and Herobrine is content to go along for the ride.

Nearly two hours have gone by since Steve had left for the nearest village. He'd seemed oddly reluctant to go, despite his sociable nature and kind personality. It brings back concerns from previous conversations, where Steve would change the subject anytime a village or other people were brought up. He isn't stupid; obviously something happened in Steve's past to warrant those reactions, however he hasn't the knowledge to speculate on what that may have been. For now he is happy Steve had even agreed to go in the first place.

They had been running dangerously low on supplies, and with a freshly broken diamond pickaxe, finding materials on their own would have been more difficult. Herobrine knows the one thing they have that's relatively useless are emeralds, so he'd suggested trading them for a pick or two. But for obvious reasons, Herobrine can not enter a village himself and expect anyone to trade with him. He can just take the picks with force, but he doesn't want to, something that no longer surprises him. Steve's "goody-two-shoes" nature has rubbed off on him and he's reluctant to revert back to the way he'd been.

He'd never seen a human so unwilling to interact with other humans. In his experiences, they like to group together if anything, finding strength in numbers. Pathetic, but admirable, in a way.

The echo of a voice through the forest alerts him that someone's coming, and by the sound it's not Steve. Since he considers Steve's house his own, he feels a protective flare rise up inside of him. Whoever it is better hope they simply pass by and not try to cause trouble.

Just as the owner of the voice is about to come into view, Herobrine jumps onto the top of a nearby tree, mindful to keep out of sight until absolutely necessary. This task becomes exponentially harder when the unwelcome guest finally comes into view.

It's no doubt a villager, holding a small, empty bag as he talks animatedly with the person next to him. Said person is holding a large pile of iron ingots and even some diamonds in his arms, and his steps almost falter as he struggles with the heavy load. Herobrine can recognize who it is even if he were blind.

It's Steve.

Carrying all those heavy materials without help from the villager next to him. Just the sight is enough to enrage Herobrine, and it takes all of his willpower to not go down there and kill the villager.

But then he notices something troubling and it's all he can focus in on, villager forgotten. The way Steve's walking...it's not right. And it's not just the weight of the ingots and gems in his arms, it looks like he's...injured, or in pain—like it's uncomfortable to walk at all, regardless if he's carrying anything or not.

As Steve and the villager approach the house, Herobrine can finally see Steve's face over the mound of iron, and instantly hot rage flows through his veins.

There's one large bruise on his cheek, and his face is twisted in an expression of discomfort and pain. The villager is oblivious.

They reach the house's threshold and Steve sets the large pile down on the ground as gently as he can, which turns out to be not gentle at all since half way to bending down he sucks in a breath and stands up straight again, the iron and diamonds tumbling to the ground. The villager either doesn't notice or doesn't care and instead says something about payment. Steve, huffing in breaths, enters the house and returns with some emeralds, handing them to the villager who then deposits them into his bag. Without another word the villager turns and leaves.

He's lucky Herobrine is more concerned for Steve, otherwise he'd be dead.

* * *

With heavy breaths, Steve leans against the side of his house, eyes closed as he struggles to breath easy. While not as bad as previous trips to a village, his journey had still been painful and unnecessarily difficult. The only consolation is that it appears Herobrine is absent at the moment. Maybe he'll be able to brew up a quick potion of healing before he returns.

That proves to be impossible when he opens his eyes and sees Herobrine standing directly in front of him, expression hostile. Instead of being surprised, he sighs.

"It's—it's nothing, promise."

With a hardening glare Herobrine takes a deliberate step forward, not at all surprised when Steve nearly trips backwards, hands unconsciously crossing over his stomach in a protective grasp. Herobrine doesn't miss what that entails.

"I can hear the lie in the beats of your heart. Do not think me a fool."

Steve's weak and undoubtedly half-hearted protest is cut off when Herobrine takes another step forward and reaches for the bottom of Steve's shirt, intent to find the truth. Steve doesn't fight back, or try to get away, instead surrendering in a way that is uncharacteristic and disturbing of him. But Herobrine sees why when he moves Steve's arms out of the way and lifts the shirt.

There is a large, ugly bruise covering the delicate expanse of skin on Steve's stomach. The damage must have been dealt severely for there are a motley of dark reds, purples, and blues, all painting the same picture of assault. He looks on through shock, then disgust and a rising sense of black-out rage. The heavy, wheezed breathing and slouched posture indicate even more unseen damage.

"What happened?" He asks, deadly calm and serious. He lets go of the shirt, allowing Steve to smooth it carefully over his stomach, concealing the damning evidence. "Who did this?"

"N-no one, I—"

"Do not lie to me, Steven!"

Startled and afraid after the trauma he's just endured, Herobrine's outburst makes him tense up. He feels sudden, extreme nausea crash over him and he doubles over, falling onto his knees as his body jerks violently with the force of his retches. When he pries his eyes open he sees through tears red beneath him, too much red, and when he looks up it's into impossible, burning white and then there's darkness.

* * *

When he opens his eyes it's to a blurry ceiling and large blobs of colors hovering over him. Through the intense sense of rolling nausea and a pounding headache he can hear words being spoken, but they are unintelligible. The colors move away from his sight and he shuts his eyes.

When he opens his eyes for the second time the world is less a blur of mismatched colors and much more sharply in focus. The headache is still there, but the queasiness of his stomach is gone, thankfully. There's also a strange numbness around his midsection. Despite it, he manages to struggle himself into a sitting position. He's in his house, on his bed. There's no one else in the room.

He looks down and notices he's shirtless, but more than that the skin of his stomach is smooth and unblemished, not at all like how he remembers. He marvels at it, gingerly touching where previously, large painful bruises had resided.

He remembers going into town and the fear that weighted heavy on him. Villages had always been a source of anxiety for him, and for this exact reason. This isn't the first time he'd been attack and it unfortunately won't be the last.

He gasps as he remembers that this time, he's not alone in his little house, and the worst possible person has discovered his secret. If it'd been anyone else he wouldn't worry so much. Given that they were merciless and hadn't spared him, he knows he should want them to suffer at Herobrine's hands, but he also knows that their actions had been irrational and born out of fear. But he doesn't want them punished for it, especially by the very being they fear so. It will only feed a cycle of hatred that seems, now more than ever, never ending.

Groaning, he rubs his hands over his face, tired and sore. He moves over to the side of the bed and rests his hands on his knees. There's a wad of cloth on the floor near his bed, and when his curiosity becomes too much to resist, he gets up and grabs it. Upon closer inspection, he recognizes it as his shirt. It's ripped down the middle, as if someone had torn it straight from his body. It doesn't take a genius to know who could have done it.

_Oh, where are you, Herobrine?_

* * *

He doesn't know what he expects, but it's not waiting for several hours, alone in his house. After changing into a new shirt, he'd sat back on his bed, unwilling to leave the safety of his house. He'd made it far away from any villages for a reason, and that's so he can live peacefully without worrying about being griefed. Or killed.

When he'd woken, the sun had been just about to rise. Now, the sun is well beyond the horizon. Most of the day he'd spent lost in his thoughts, the ripped shirt laying across his lap. Despite not having moved all day, a wave of tiredness, matched by a rising ache in his body, makes his eyelids heavy. He doesn't remember falling asleep.

Consciousness returns suddenly. The door opening is the cause of his sudden alertness, and he sits up, wincing at the uncomfortable ache from sleeping awkwardly on his side. He pushes that away, however, when finally face to face with Herobrine.

He's not covered in blood, so that's a good sign. He doesn't look any different than normal, expect perhaps more angry. It's obvious in the way he's glaring and how tight his fists are clenched at his side.

Steve wants to say something, and opens his mouth to do so, but he finds he doesn't know what to say. He closes his mouth and swallows, oddly ashamed as he fiddles with the shirt still on his lap. He notices how Herobrine's gaze focuses on the shirt in his hands.

Still without a word, Herobrine comes up to him and takes a hold of it. Silenced by the heavy presence filling his small house, Steve allows Herobrine to yank the shirt out of his grasp. As soon as he has it, Herobrine ignites the weak cloth, which burns quickly to ashes. He then wipes his hands together and grabs a chair, spinning it around so its facing Steve on the bed. Herobrine sits down and stares at him.

Under such intense scrutiny, Steve averts his own eyes, staring down at his hands, which he twists together in loo of the shirt.

"I want you to explain to me why it happened." Herobrine finally says, his voice low and controlled. Steve glances up, a distressed expression flitting across his face.

"...But—"

"Explain."

His nails dig into his palms. He's reluctant. He doesn't want to talk about it, but he knows that angering Herobrine further won't be wise and most likely end with the truth coming out anyway. Better to have this on his terms.

"Okay," he sighs, rubbing his arms. He feels cold, and whatever had been making him numb has worn off during sleep. The dull, pulsing ache centered on his stomach is distracting, but he gathers his thoughts through it. "Okay.

I don't remember much of when I was little. My village was located at the base of a large mountain, and travelers would always stop there to trade and rest.

Everything was okay, in the beginning. I remember playing with the other kids, and when I was really young the other villagers would smile at me and my friends as we tried to get free goodies. I think it was because of my father why the villagers were so nice. He was our village's greatest miner, always able to find ores we needed quickly. He organized the mines we had so well that even us children could find iron or gold. He made sure it was safe too.

But his status in the village wasn't enough to protect me forever. The adults tolerated me, but travelers reacted badly. I remember one group leaving the village without trading anything because a "demon" lived there. That was the first time I heard that word, but not the last.

Because I was so young, I didn't fully understand what was happening. All I knew was that the older I got, the less travelers stayed at any of our inns, or traded with our vendors."

He pauses, swallowing to wet his dry throat. He stares at his hands as he continues.

"My parents never explained to me what was happening. I could tell they knew something but every time I asked why the other kids were never allowed to play with me or why the other adults would glare at me, they made excuse after excuse, as if they were trying to protect the village and not me." Unbidden, a sudden harshness taints the tone of his voice. "Not much good it did them. My best guess is that they were trying to keep the villagers happy to prevent them from outright attacking me.

Because of their choice of not telling me the truth I grew apart from them. I loved them still but I knew I was alone in my village. I think I was...eight maybe? But I knew I had to leave, with or without my parents."

He takes a deep breath.

"They burned our house down. I guess they were tired of the "demon" driving away all their business. I couldn't find my parents through the smoke, and when I made it out of the house their was a mob of people waiting for me, all holding either a sword or some tool. They told me I wasn't welcome there, and that if I wanted to live I should leave. So I did, and never looked back."

There's a silence where he expects Herobrine to say something, but as time ticks by and he remains silent, Steve continues.

"I encountered the same hostility at the next village and the one after that. I was just a kid and yet...they would have killed me if I hadn't of left, I know it. But one village had a kind librarian, an older woman who'd traveled the world at one point. She let me stay with her for a little bit. And she finally told me why everyone reacted poorly when they saw me. My clearest memory is her showing me this...I think she called it a tablet. She'd said she'd found it in the ruins of a desert temple, and that it's brethren told the story of the Nether Demon. When I saw the image painted onto the sandstone, I thought for a second it was _me._ But she explained it was someone else, someone who the people feared greatly, enough to kill a child who simply looked like him."

It still disgusts him.

They sit in silence again, Herobrine staring hard at Steve and Steve staring down at his hands. The clock ticks on the wall.

"Did you hate me?"

Steve looks up sharply, seeing Herobrine's carefully controlled expression of repressed rage and, surprisingly, guilt. He shakes his head.

"Maybe at first. But seeing that tablet ignited the adventurer spirit inside me. I wanted to find out more, about both your legend and the world in general, so she gave me an iron sword, a stone pickaxe, some food, and I set off to explore the world."

"Where did you go?"

"At first I didn't know where to go or what to do, only that I wanted it to be far, far away from villages. That desire eventually lead me to jungles and deserts, where I explored temples and ruins. And where I encountered more tablets with the mysterious man who looked like me. It was actually during one of those jungle adventures that I found this place. I had seen the village in my journey through the jungle, and when I came out of it, I saw this perfect area where the biomes met. And if I ever did need the services of a village, there was one relatively close by. And then I met you and now...here we are." He shrugs.

The sun is high in the sky now. Steve finds that his breathing is heavier than it'd been when he started his tale. All this talking has him winded, and he wonders if his healed skin hides something worse behind it. Vomiting blood, after all, is not a good sign of health. As it is he can barely bring himself to lift off the bed.

"You should rest now," Herobrine says softly, watching him still. He would probably be able to see through any of Steve's claims of wellness.

"Yeah, that—" he yawns, rubbing a hand across his face. "That sounds like a good idea." It feels like his energy's been zapped right out of his body. His stomach is sore and achy where the villagers had kicked him, and his throat is burning from retching. He struggles to get under the covers and sighs once settled.

"I will be here when you wake."

It's the last thing he hears before he slips into oblivion.

* * *

_The air feels heavy and oppressive. It's hard to breath and dark and he's scared. There's a chill in the air and he shivers, clutching his arms together across his chest to preserve warmth._

_It's impossible to see more than a few blocks in front of him, and the floor is hard and unforgiving and he stumbles his way through the darkness._

_His breath clouds his vision, a testament to how cold it is. He's wearing only his normal attire, a light short sleeved shirt and jeans, and he really wishes he had more on._

_He walks for a long time without a sense of direction. At first he thinks he's walking in circles, and then he doesn't know what to think as nothing changes the farther he goes on. It's just an endless amount of darkness._

_There's a faint whisper and he spins around, eyes searching hopelessly in the darkness. "Hello?" His voice echoes. After a minute of standing there, he turns back around and keeps walking._

"_Demon."_

"_Hello!" He calls again. He definitely heard something this time._

_With again no response, he keeps walking. There are no more whispers._

_Something changes. There's a wall of in front of him now, and he puts his hand on the cold stone. "Great," he mutters, turning back around._

_There's a wall in front of him._

"_...What?" He whispers, shocked. How...how is this possible? He'd just come from that direction after walking forever!_

_He runs up to the wall and slams his hands against it, hoping against hope that the wall isn't real. But it remains solid against the onslaught of his strikes._

_Looking left and then right, he starts shaking when he realizes he's trapped in a small room, and with no pickaxe to aid him, he's stuck._

"Demon!"

"Die!"

"Monster! How could you!"

"Unwanted."

"Unloved."

"Weak!"

"Leave us alone, can't you see you're not welcome here!"

"What did we ever do to you!"

"You don't deserve to be alive!"

_A cacophony of harsh whispers assault his ears, deafening in their loudness. He covers his ears, whimpering as they don't stop, they don't stop! Why don't they stop, it's not his fault!_

"_Steve! Wake up!"_

_It...it's not...his...fault..._

"_Steve!"_

* * *

With a gasp he sits up in bed, breath stuttering through his chest. He can feel a hand on his shoulder and flinches, wrapping his arms around his knees. The hand leaves.

"Are you alright?" Comes a quiet question and Steve just breaths, keeping his head down for a few more moments before answering.

"Ye—Yeah. Yeah I am," he says, his voice wavering. It barely sounds convincing to his own ears.

He knows Herobrine wants to know what happened, but he just needs a little bit of time to himself right now. But Herobrine only sits back down in his chair and waits for Steve to start speaking on his own. It takes several minutes for him to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he starts with, turning his face to be able to look at Herobrine. His face is impassive.

"Do not be. You experienced a nightmare, did you not?"

"Yeah."

"Do you...wish to speak about it?" Herobrine says, his expression unsure now.

Steve says nothing and merely looks at Herobrine. His friend. His friend who has helped him and understands him and how could he not? They are so similar in things such as this. Just two men—brothers, alone in the world with no one but each other for company. And now Herobrine, who used to despise and resent humans so much, is attempting to offer him comfort despite how unnatural it must seem to him.

A small smile comes to his face and he sighs, finally getting his breathing back under control. "Thank you."

Herobrine looks confused. "For what?"

Steve moves to sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded on his lap. "For just being here."

"You are welcome." For the first time since they've been sitting here, Herobrine looks away from him. "I...there's something I wish to tell you. You have opened up to me and told me your past. Now I want to tell you mine."


	6. We Were Never Welcomed Here At All (II)

**Well that's it for this little arc of angst. We'll get back to more light hearted stories. But perhaps we'll return to the hurt/comfort and angst side of things. Who knows? After all, I do like the 'friendship' stories just as much as I like the 'bitter enemy' stories.**

**I hope everyone's still enjoying these little ficlets! Enjoy!**

* * *

Steve doesn't dare move.

He stares in disbelief and a little anticipation at Herobrine, who is still not looking him in the eye, something Steve rarely thinks ever happens. Herobrine does not often get "shy," if that is even an adequate word. Herobrine takes pride in controlling his emotions.

Still, seeing the legend like this is thrilling, even more so given his words. Will he finally get to know Herobrine's past?

The silence between them isn't uncomfortable but he breaks it all the same. "Are you sure? I mean, I get telling you my past considering what happened, and yeah, maybe I should have told you a long time ago. But that's different. You don't have to tell me anything, I understand that your past is a lot more complicated than mine."

When Herobrine looks at him again, there's an odd sort of confused expression on his face. "How do you know this?" He says, eyes narrowed.

"When I left that town, you know, the one with the nice librarian?" Herobrine nods and he continues. "Well, after I left, I didn't know where to go. I was only a kid, after all, and I didn't know the first thing about surviving in the world. I'd always had the comfort of a family to care for me. But now that I was suddenly all alone in the world, it didn't take long for me to realize I didn't know the first thing about really living. Eventually I learned how to make a fire and furnaces for my food and all that.

But one time, when I was crossing a small expanse of desert, I finally saw a desert temple off in the distance. At first I'd thought maybe it'd be an illusion, but sure enough when I approached, it was real. I heard stories about temples, and the traps that were hidden in their depths, so I was careful when exploring. The loot at the bottom was easy to collect, but that wasn't what I was interested in. It was the walls, and the paintings and carvings." Steve much more enjoyed speaking of his adventures than he did of what lead him to them. Part of his past he really hated. Part of it he absolutely loved, and that was obvious in the way his whole face lit up when talking about it.

"Finally I could study more of the mysterious legend who ruined my life." He says it with an airy laugh but Herobrine's expression turns guilty and unsure. Steve smiles and shakes his head. "Don't worry. I was much more interested in the legend itself than what it was doing to me. After all, nothing bad happened so long as I stayed away from other people, and that was hard at first, but I got used to it."

"That does not excuse what happened to you, nor does it validate my actions in the past."

"But you didn't know. How could you? Did you know someone who looked like you would be born into the world?"

"...No."

"Then it's okay. I forgive you."

Herobrine stares at Steve, this singularly extraordinary human being who is so selfless and kind. How did he ever manage to trick this human into friendship? He certainly doesn't deserve such kindness.

"Well, I'm sure you've been to plenty of temples, right?" Steve continues his story. "So I don't need to tell you about your own legend written on the walls in them. But it fascinated me. I couldn't read the words, but I could understand the story through the pictures. And I felt bad for you." Steve's smile fades to a small frown. "According to them, you were sent to the Nether, right? You didn't go there by choice."

Herobrine sighs. "You are correct, I did not."

"Why?"

"...I don't remember much of the my life in the beginning. One day I woke up. And like you, I was a simple man trying to survive. I made farms, I mined, I did all that I could, but for what purpose? I searched for other people, someone like myself to explain who I was and what I was for. But there was no one. Now, of course, I know that I was the first human created by Notch."

Steve gasps. "Really?"

"Indeed," Herobrine nods, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the wall. "Despite such an...'honor,' Notch did not show himself to me. In a newly created land, I was his sole living creation, and yet he ignored me." He could feel his rage and hate for Notch building, and he clenches his fists in a poor attempt at keeping control. "But I lived. I _thrived_ in that world, alone though I was. I did not need the help or guidance of some absentee God to give my life purpose.

So I explored. I climbed the highest mountains and I dived into the deepest depths of the ocean. I mined to bedrock and I touched the clouds. And on the one day that changed everything, Notch finally showed himself.

You might be surprised to know that Notch does not look the role he plays. He does not adorn himself in diamond armor, or carry diamond tools. No, he has the appearance of a simple man. And when I saw him for the first time, I did not know it was him. How could I, for at that time I did not even know I had been created by someone else. As far as I was concerned, I was the only living thing on the vast landscape I occupied.

But he told me, I'll never forget, he said he was sorry for leaving me to myself, and told me that I was no longer alone in the world. And then he left. You might think he meant that there were humans in the world, but he did not mean other humans, he meant the mobs you see at night. He chose to populate the world with hostile creatures designed to kill! And he didn't warn me about them!" He's practically yelling at this point, beyond rational thought. Merely thinking about that period of time in his life is enough to spiral him into a blood-fueled rage. But Steve's presence here is like a balm over his searing emotions. He retains control and focuses on breathing through the intense hate threatening to undue all that he has worked to correct. He is not _that_ Herobrine anymore, he is not the killer from the legend.

After just breathing for a few moments, he has enough stability to continue.

"I died," he forced through grit teeth. "One of those infernal skeletons shot me in the back. It was an...interesting experience. I don't remember much of it other than the fact that Notch showed himself once again." He snorts in disgusts. "How lucky, to have not one but two visits from the mighty Creator. I remember him speaking but not what he said, and the next thing I knew I was alive again, waking up in the same spot as the first time."

"You were...brought back to life?" Steve asks in clarification, expression coated in disbelief. Herobrine nods. "Yes. He brought me back to life. And that singular action ruined me.

Humans do not take well to living again after death, and you need only look at the mindless zombies that wander the world at night to know I speak truth. They lose their minds, and that is what happened to me. It was a slow process that stripped me of my most basic of senses and instincts. It got to the point where the hostile mobs ignored my presence, most likely thinking me one of them. But of course, where was Notch when this was happening? Living his life peacefully in the Aether, that's where! Ignoring his own creation's need for help!

And when he finally got around to creating more humans, those stupid worthless villagers you see, I snapped. I killed every villager I came across, and I enjoyed it."

"Herobrine!"

He's startled by the loud yell, and notices for the first time he's smiling. He can see Steve staring at him, but he can't understand why the miner is backed up fully on the bed, nor why the man is in a defensive position. He realizes belatedly that he is standing, and much closer to Steve than he remembers being.

"Calm down," Steve says carefully, like any more sudden moves might provoke him into attacking. It's a disturbing thought—he'd never hurt his friend, not anymore. "You're starting to scare me."

Oh.

Herobrine backs up slowly, almost in a daze. "I...must ask for your forgiveness. I did not...I—"

"It's okay," Steve says reassuringly, moving back to the edge of the bed. "I know you didn't mean anything. I can understand that this subject must be hard for you to talk about. Like I said earlier, you don't have to tell me any more."

"I am...well enough to continue." Herobrine insists, sitting back down. He would never admit it, but he's scared that his rage is enough to cause blackouts. It is an unhealthy attribute he's always remembered having.

"After...after the villagers, Notch came to me again, for the third and final time. He said that though I was special to him, as his first creation, he would not tolerate my disregard for other human lives, nor my actions against them. As you might imagine, I was not in my right mind, and could not respond beyond attempting the impossible and trying to kill him. I remember him saying he was sorry that he had to destroy me and his frustration at having to try to make the perfect human being once more. And after that I remember a blinding light." He's quiet for a few seconds. "This is when I was truly born, as you see me now. His attempt to destroy me backfired and instead gave me powers of the Gods. I do not know why, or how, but at that point I did not care. My memories of this time are sharp and focused, and the first thing I did was attack him, as I had every right to. When he fled, I roamed the world, making the humans and mobs alike suffer my wrath. Why had they been allotted normal, health lives while I had to go through the Nether and back to simply exist? I was...angry at them for something they could not control, but I didn't care. I still—I still find it hard to pardon them, even though I know they are innocent."

"So that's why you attack people? Because you feel they wronged you?"

"Yes. The paintings and the carvings on the temple walls are not a deception. They are accurate. I did attack and kill innocent humans, and eventually Notch and the other Gods had had enough. They created the Nether, together, and banned me to its fiery depths for what they thought and hoped would be eternity. But I would not so easily be forgotten. Sending me to the Nether was their second biggest mistake, aside from deciding to create me. I created the mobs there, so that if they ever returned they would be turned against. Unlike the Overworld mobs, these stronger, advanced mobs would not cower in their presence nor stop trying to attack them. I eventually gathered enough power to transcend worlds and thus developed the ability to teleport, both freely and in between dimensions, not unlike an enderman. After that, they were forced to deal with my permanent presence in the world, and to this day I've yet to have encountered them again. But what I have encountered is another of Notch's creations, a second attempt at the human he wanted me so badly to be."

"Really? Who was it?" Steve asks. Herobrine's past is undoubtedly horrific. Since learning of Herobrine's existence in the library when he was a child, he'd never thought the legend was completely true, for he did not believe in 'pure evil,' as Herobrine was so often referred to as. Everyone—Herobrine, the villagers who attack him—_everyone_ has good in them. Sometimes it's just a matter of believing hard enough.

At his question, Herobrine smiles a small smile. "A young miner named Steve."

Steve gasps once again. "Really? No way."

"Truly, there is no mistaking our physical similarity. Though the Gods' power has corrupted my appearance in some ways, we remain like mirror images of each other. Surely you didn't think it a coincidence?"

Steve shrugs. "Maybe? How could I know?"

He allows his smile to grow. He's so thankful to have met this human. It is a blessing he doesn't deserve but hordes close nonetheless. Nothing will ever happen to separate him from his friend, that's something he will make sure of.

"No, when we met that day it was not by chance. The world is a large place, Steve. The chances of us meeting, especially where we were, is very small. But I believe it is fate that brought us together."

"You do?"

"Yes. Being around you is helping me. Slowly but surely, you are healing the damaged bits of my soul, returning me the person I once was. It is a slow process, but made all the better by your presence."

Steve wraps his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest. "Dude, I'm just being myself."

"That is all I can ask of you."

* * *

An seemingly old man stands just outside a house, sadness in his eyes but warmth in his heart as he stares through the window at the oblivious occupants inside. He never would have believed Herobrine capable of such kindness as he has shown Steven, but he is pleasantly surprised. When Steve was born he desperately wished they would never meet, and had hoped that Steve would resent Herobrine for being the source of his troubles, but now...now, he would never dare separate them. Maybe, in the future, he will show himself to Herobrine for the fourth time, and they can meet not as enemies, but as friends.

He disappears in a flash, assured that his greatest creation is safe under the care of his greatest regret.


	7. Two Skilled Adventurers

**Ah, back to light hearted, fun times. I still appreciate everyone who reads this series of one-shots, and I hope you all enjoy!**

**Also, whoops! Just read the first chapter and I now realize how much I contradict myself. I'm going to edit that chapter so that each fic can stand alone and yet act as a whole with the other fics. Don't want to confuse people!**

* * *

The grand plains of the desert stand before him. Its vastness never ceases to amaze him. Its always been breathtaking in its beauty; like every biome, he finds in himself a deep seated urge to explore, to find everything it has to offer.

Still, it's also daunting. Such a large area of desert guarantees his journey to be long and arduous, especially since the sun is only just starting to come up. But as he knows all to well, the desert is even more dangerous at night. There's such a long line of sight for mobs to see, any traveler who wishes to traverse a desert must do so before the sun goes down.

Of course, he no longer has that problem.

"Are you sure you're ready? You're not even bringing anything!"

His friend stares at him like he's lost his mind. "Need I remind you who I am? What would make you believe I need anything for this journey?"

"Well...I don't know," Steve says, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. "Water? A sword?"

Utterly silent, Herobrine holds both his hands out. Particles like he's seen around endermen and Nether portals appear around them, and when they clear, he's holding a diamond sword in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. In another flash of particles, they're gone. "Is that sufficient?"

"I guess. Show off," he adds with a mutter, but he knows Herobrine can hear him, and he knows this in the way Herobrine nudges his shoulder playfully on his way towards the desert. That "playful" nudge nearly sends him toppling over, the weight of his bag off balancing him. He corrects himself with a withering glare at Herobrine, but there's no heat to it.

He catches up to his friend, and they begin their search for a desert temple.

When Herobrine had suggested they explore the desert, Steve had jumped at the opportunity. The only biome he had thoroughly explored before building his house had been the jungle, which he'd emerged from to find the perfect place for a home. However, he'd never found the jungle temple, nor had he had the time to search in the neighboring biomes for any secrets. He'd had every intention to, but a certain legend had barreled into his life and put exploring on hold.

Now he's eager to get going again. He'd always let the wind tell him where to go, or let the allure of the unexplored pull him in. It's never failed him.

He misses finding abandoned mineshafts while caving. That first rush of realization is always such a thrill, and thoroughly exploring the previously unexplored makes a deep seated feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment rise within him. It's something he loves and wouldn't trade for all the diamonds in the world.

And now, getting the chance to explore with Herobrine, of all possible people...he can just barely contain his excitement. In the months that he and Herobrine have been friends, he's seen the legend do some pretty crazy stuff. He's anticipating seeing some of that during this exploration.

As they walk farther and farther into the desert, Steve periodically takes sips from his water bottles, while Herobrine carries on, seeming unfazed by the intense heat. After glancing at him a few times in wonderment, Steve finally asks what's on his mind.

"How do you stay so...normal in this heat?" He asks, wiping his hand across his forehead. He's no stranger to exploring deserts but this heat is a real killer.

"I spent decades of my life trapped in the hell fire realm that is the Nether."

Steve's speechless at such an incredibly blunt response, mouth hanging open. Herobrine glances over his shoulder and stops walking, allowing Steve to catch up from where he had stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

"Dude! You can't just say that and act like nothing happened!"

"I don't see why not? Why, is there something wrong with that? I can think of nothing."

"There's nothing wrong it's just...you took that question super literally," Steve says as he drops his bag from his shoulders, allowing sweet relief to flow through them. He wishes he didn't need to pack so much but previous outings have taught him well that it's better to be over prepared than dead. "Can we take a break?"

"When we have only just begun?" Herobrine asks, looking to the sun for the time. It has not yet reached overhead.

"But it's _hot_," Steve totally doesn't complain as he pulls out a water bottle.

"Is it?" Herobrine muses, "I hadn't noticed."

Steve glares over the rim of his water bottle, fully aware that the smug little grin on Herobrine's face means he knows exactly how hot it is. Curse him for being a master at manipulation. But Steve's learning.

"Yeah I'm sure," he mumbles, then louder, "Do you already know where a temple is by chance?"

Herobrine hums and turns slowly in a circle, keen eyes scanning the horizon. "I don't believe so. I do not stay long in one area and had no intention of staying here until we crossed paths."

Steve sighs and stretches before pulling his pack back onto his shoulder. "Well, that's okay. Half the fun in these trips, in my experience, is finding the dang places. Let's go."

They walk on, that vast sandy landscape a beautiful and deadly sight as they pass by. At one point Steve almost thinks he's spotted a temple, but when they venture farther that way they discover a small desert village, most likely there to welcome travelers and offer them relief from the heat. Steve shivers at the sight of other people and unconsciously moves closer to Herobrine, who glares in disgust at the village. They turn the opposite direction and continue on.

The sun has just finished cresting overhead when they find a temple at last, shortly after stopping to eat some lunch. The unfortunate find of a village is long forgotten in Steve's mind as excitement takes over, filling ever last inch of his being. This is why he loves exploring. He nearly trips over his own feet and the sand as he runs towards it. Herobrine follows behind at a much more relaxed and controlled pace.

Upon entering the temple, Steve sets his bag down gently—respectively—and scans the walls for the real prize hidden in plain sight: the carvings and paintings on the wall. He's a little disappointed when he can't spot the familiar blue and white figure he's come to associate with Herobrine.

"Well that's a shame..." he mutters to himself as he inspects the wall in more detail. In fact, there seems to be a distinct lack of pictures. Instead, the walls are covered in strange symbols, which is a shame because he can't understand them, and uses the pictures to try and decipher what the walls describe. With no pictures, he utterly clueless as to what secrets the carvings could be hiding.

"Interesting," Herobrine says next to him, and Steve jumps in surprise, having not heard him enter the structure. He puts a hand on his chest, over his heart, and catches his breath.

"What is?"

"The collection of words on the walls. They tell an interesting story."

"You can read that?"

"Of course," Herobrine says, voice full of pride. "It is simple."

"Well what does it say?" Steve asks excitedly. He hadn't thought that Herobrine, who has been alive for such a long time, might be able to read the words. In hindsight, perhaps he should have anticipated this.

"It appears to be describing the tale of a young hero who went around the land and helped the people in a time of great hardship. I remember this young hero."

"You do?"

"Yes. If my memory serves, I had just created the Dragon of the End and let it loose upon the Overworld. But with the help of the Aether Gods that mortal sealed my dragon in the End. I have not yet discovered a way to free it."

"Wow," Steve marvels. "I had no idea that even happened." How much history did they—humans—truly know anyway? If the tales of the past are written on walls of ancient structures in a language humans now cannot read, how much of the past can be told?

"It is not a tale I find often, despite the impact it had on the world," Herobrine says.

"How did he do it?"

"The young hero? It was a female. She had been raised as a warrior in a stronghold, when they had been populated by humans. Her courageous heart and pure spirit called to the power of the Gods, and they responded by blessing her with the ability to seal my beast in a newly created dimension, which I believe had originally been created for me, so that I may never return to the Overworld. And after that, she went from village to village, helping fix the destruction that had happened."

"What happened to her?"

"What do you think? I killed her."

Sometimes the ease with which Herobrine can say things like that frightens him. "Just like that?"

"Indeed. She was a force for good and so had to be eliminated."

"Didn't you feel bad?"

Herobrine sighs and looks at Steve. "You remember, do you not? I felt...anger towards humans, and hate. What care should I have if they live or die, when all I wanted then was destruction? It has been so long that I do not feel bad for what I did, although, with clarity, I can say that I was perhaps...brutal, in my actions. It is different for me now; with your help I find myself less inclined to take my frustrations out on humans."

"That's...all that really matters now, I guess," Steve responds, moving over to his pack. He pulls out a torch and drags it quickly over a nearby pillar, lighting the tip. He lays it near the blue stained clay in the center of the floor. Striking up another torch, he hands this one to Herobrine, who is watching him and still standing next to the wall. A third torch is lit and he sets this one down by his bag as he searches for an iron pickaxe. When he finds it, he walks towards the stained clay pattern on the floor, where he knows treasure hides underneath. "Might as well loot the place," he comments. With one mighty swing the blue block breaks.

He hears the sound of TNT being ignited and only has time to react briefly before arms encircle his waist and forcefully spin him around.

A loud _BOOM!_ shakes the temple, and the force of it pushes them roughly into a wall. Steve's quick thinking of using his arms to shield himself from the impact with the wall saves his head from a bashing, but his arms will most likely be bruised for several days. When the dust settles and there aren't any more explosions, the arms release him and he's free to turn around.

Herobrine's face is annoyed and slightly pained. Over his shoulder, Steve can see a large hole where the floor he'd just been standing on had been and is now gone, smoke still lingering in the air. He looks back to Herobrine. "Are you okay?" He asks, a headache beginning to pound at the base of his skull. Herobrine sighs heavily through his nose. "I am adequate, at the moment."

"You...you saved my life," Steve realizes, eyes wide. "You protected me from the explosion." Herobrine's face clearly shows he's in a rotten mood, plus the pained expression on his face hasn't left yet. "Did you get hurt?" Despite what so many people—including himself at one point—think, Herobrine could suffer injuries. Killing him might be impossible, but hurting him is as easy as hurting any human. "Turn around," Steve commands, leaving Herobrine no opportunity to refute before he grabs Herobrine's arm and turns the man bodily around. He gasps at what he sees.

Due to his proximity to the explosion, Herobrine's shirt is burned cleaned through on the back, revealing a mess of burns and cuts, probably from little pieces of broken sandstone. He isn't bleeding but the burns look painful and extensive. If he'd been human he'd probably be dead. As it is, his healing abilities are already mending the damaged skin, but even so Steve doesn't think for a second that everything is okay just because Herobrine will be healed in a few minutes. Herobrine had once confided in him that though an injury might heal quickly, it is only the surface wounds that do; he still feels his body attempting to return to normal for hours afterward, depending on the complexity and intensity of the wound. Steve knows Herobrine will probably be feeling the repercussions of this for at least another day.

He spots his bag, having been blown to the side from the explosion, laying against one of the many pillars supporting the temple. "Just, don't move. I have something that might help." He leaves Herobrine where he is, standing with his back still to the hole, and runs over to his bag, pulling out item after useless item until he finds a roll of wool bandages. He returns to Herobrine's side. "I have some bandages, they should help your healing. Can you take your shirt off?"

Herobrine grabs the front of his own shirt and pulls. It must have been hanging together by a thread, because it comes away easily, and he drops it uncaringly to the floor. "Here, hold this," Steve says, handing him an end to the roll. Herobrine holds it to his chest while Steve takes the rest of the roll and walks around him, wrapping the bandage around practically his entire torso. Steve barely has any left over when he's done. "There, that should help."

"It came from over here! In the temple!" Comes a shout from outside, accompanied by the sound of dogs barking. Steve gasps.

"People are coming!" He whispers, fear prickling across his spine. "What do we do?" He asks worriedly as he shoves the rest of the bandage into his bag. Herobrine holds his hand out. "Take my hand."

When Steve does so, a strange sensation overtakes him, like his whole being is being shifted several times in every direction. He closes his eyes and experiences severe disorientation before the feeling subsides. He feels the hand holding him let go, and when he assures himself he's on solid ground, he opens his eyes. They're standing outside in the desert, on a hill far away from the temple, where Steve can see two people and some dogs approaching it. It makes him sick that they almost encountered other people, and he realizes that Herobrine must have teleported them out of the temple.

"We are going home," Herobrine says, voice hard and icy. If Steve had wanted to protest, it would have been impossible.

"Y-Yeah," he agrees, stomach a little queasy from the teleportation. Herobrine holds his hand out again, and though Steve knows just what that means and his stomach does a flip just thinking about it, he takes the offered hand anyway.

When they arrive in a flurry of ender particles in front of his house, Steve nearly loses his lunch. "We are never doing...that again," Steve says on his hands and knees—just in case. "That was horrible. How do you stand that?"

"Try withstanding an explosion."

"Oh ha ha. We really need to work on your sense of humor."

"That can wait." Herobrine grabs his arm and stands him up. "Your arms are bleeding."

Steve holds them up and sure enough, blood is oozing sluggishly from shallow cuts. The skin around them is already turning an ugly purple. The sight of bruises makes him feel uneasy—too many memories. "Huh."

Herobrine wraps his arms in bandages after cleaning the wounds, and they spend the rest of the day recuperating. Steve thinks about the next adventure while Herobrine wonders just what he got himself into being friends with a danger magnet.


	8. Herobrine's Haunted House

**Here's a little story inspired by Halloween.**

* * *

There's a ravine in the forest. It's deep, dark depths hide a surprising find, one that Steve is sure he'd of missed on any normal day. But today was not a normal day, thanks to the lunatic standing beside him.

"This isn't a good idea," he says plainly, crossing his arms and trying to smother shivers. Though night has only just descended, the wind whips by them in a cold, frozen flurry. Herobrine seems unfazed.

"Nonsense," Herobrine says, unmindful of the wind and the encroaching darkness as Steve's torch starts to die down. Of course he wouldn't mind; he can see in the dark. Steve, unfortunately, does not have that ability.

"Okay, we saw it, now we can leave." Steve holds his torch up and attempts to find the path home, but he knows, and Herobrine knows, it is a fruitless effort. "Er, which way's the road?"

"I'm afraid not," comes a just plain dastardly whisper. Herobrine is suddenly not next to him anymore. He has a habit of disappearing and reappearing, though it has subsided in recent weeks. Steve's almost willing to make a break for the road through the dense foliage and towering trees but hands grab his shoulders roughly and there's that weird, shifting feeling that comes with teleporting and now he's standing on hard stone, head spinning and stomach in his throat. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut until the feelings pass.

"What did I say about that? No more!"

There's no answer. He looks around but Herobrine is no where to be seen, and the old, abandoned house tucked away in the bottom of the ravine looms before him, intimidating and unwelcoming. "Herobrine!" Steve calls, his voice echoing back at him. The ravine is much deeper than it looks from the ground above, especially since there's not a torch lit save the one in his hand, and even that one is dimming quickly. "Herobrine!" Still, nothing.

"Great," he mutters, kicking a small chuck of stone. He looks up at the house and feels dread. He does not want to go in there.

For a moment he considers staying put, out of spite, but the world hates him and it starts raining. Not wanting to catch a cold, he is forced onto the deck of the house, under the roof. And just his luck, it's a thunder storm, lighting and thunder penetrating the darkness and silence of the night.

He turns to the front door, which barely hangs from the doorway. The house inside is pitch black and highly ominous. Sighing in defeat, he mutters, "I won't forgive you from this," and walks into the doorway.

His waning torch provides little light, but he can see that the house is very old. There's dust upon dust, and the floorboards creak greatly when he steps on them. The whole house in fact seems to bend and break the farther he walks in, like his footsteps are too much for the old house.

There isn't much in the foyer but there are two doors, one on either side of him, and a stairway just ahead. The door to the right is boarded up, and the stairs lead straight into darkness. No way he's going up there. So, the left door it is.

He's just starting to feel nervous about the life left on his torch when he sees another one on a table. He quickly grabs it, but as soon as he picks it up the familiar and dread sound of a skeleton's rattling approaches from beyond the door on the other side of the room. Eyes wide and heart beating wildly, Steve drops his torch and steps on it several times in wild and frightful manner before nervously hiding under the table, praying to the Aether Gods that whatever rounds the corner doesn't spot him.

He feels vulnerable under the table; it doesn't seem like he'd be able to hide from anything. His eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, but it feels heavy and invading without the torch to help him.

He hears a scratching sound along with the rattling and holds his breath. Despite his slightly improved vision in the dark, he can't spot the glaringly white sheen of bones.

He's starting to think he's in the safe when a sword hits the ground just in front of him and the darkness shifts. He clasps a hand over his mouth to stop a scream and realizes why he couldn't see the skeleton's legs: it's a _wither skeleton._

He'd cry if it wouldn't get him killed. The sword digs briefly into the old wood before dragging along as the skeleton moves away, taking slow steps until it disappears around the corner.

His heart is about to burst from his chest. He waits several seconds to make sure the skeleton is gone before leaving the safety of his hiding spot and making a break for the door. He doesn't care if he gets soaked or even struck by lightning, there's no way he's going to stay in this house any longer.

He doesn't notice the door is closed until he's trying the doorknob to open it. The door doesn't budge.

"No, no no _please_," he whispers, frantically trying to force the door open. It's no use; he's stuck in a house with a wither skeleton, and Herobrine is no where to be seen.

"I hope you rot in the Nether," Steve whispers harshly, knowing Herobrine can probably hear him. He doesn't doubt for a second that Herobrine's gone—he's sure the sadistic bastard is enjoying this torture.

"Now don't be cruel," comes a deep rumble, seemingly from everywhere. Steve wouldn't be able to tell which direction Herobrine's voice came from if his life depended on it.

"Don't be cruel!" Steve whispers as loudly as he dares. "Why don't you try taking your own advice!"

"Careful. There's a wither skeleton around here somewhere." Herobrine's voice fades away with a dark laugh and Steve promises to himself he's not going to talk to his "friend" for at least a month after this. He hopes Herobrine can deal with the silent treatment.

Footsteps and rattling start getting closer again, so he ducks back into the room to the left and hides beneath the table. He takes deep breaths and doesn't move a muscle as the wither skeleton wanders back into the room. It circles two times before leaving, and Steve hears the creak of stairs, as well as the clang of the sword presumably knocking against each step on the way up.

In the clear for now, Steve hurriedly scrambles out from beneath the table and sneaks into the room the skeleton had emerged from. It's a living room if the couch he bumps into is any indication. A cloud of dust kicks up from his actions and it takes everything in him to not sneeze up a storm. The skeleton would find him for sure.

His sight has improved but not by much, and taking a chance he takes the torch and strikes it quickly across the wall. The old wood protests, but manages to ignite the tip of the torch, but to his dismay, low, red light floods the room. It's a redstone torch.

He'd be swearing up a storm if he could speak, but his tongue is tied as he explores the room. The redstone torch does provide some light, but he wishes there was more. No, actually he wishes he wasn't in this stupid house to begin with.

A scratching sound makes him whip his head around, and his blood freezes in his veins. The wither skeleton is standing at the door, unmoving as it stares right at him. Steve stares back, horrified, and makes no movement at all. Maybe it won't see him if he doesn't move.

No luck. The wither skeleton emits a piercing scream and raises the sword as it charges for him. Screaming in terror, Steve can only yell in fear, close his eyes and hope his death is quick.

After several seconds of nothing happening, laughter slowly builds until it fills the room, it's owner no doubt proud of himself. Torches all around the room burst to life and Steve opens his eyes to see the sword only a few inches in front of his face. He feels like passing out.

The skeleton lowers the sword until it's resting back on the ground. No longer hostile, it looks around before wandering back out of the room.

The laughter is loud now, and Steve is angered to sense that it's genuine. He turns around to find the source, and glares death at Herobrine.

Herobrine, for his part, seems unaware as a laughs and laughs, so proud that his little trick worked on Steve. Of course it would; human's are so easy to scare. He quiets down when he senses Steve's glare on him and fixes his own mirth-filled gaze on the miner, smug as could be.

"Don't tell me a wither skeleton is enough to frighten you? They're harmless," Herobrine says, expecting Steve to respond, but instead, Steve's glare turns slowly into a steady stare, and his mouth remains shut.

"You know I'd never let anything like that actually harm you, yes?" Herobrine says, and any laughter left in his face vanishes when Steve turns around, still silent, and walks out of the room. Herobrine follows.

"Were you harmed? What is wrong?" Question after question is ignored, and when Steve stops in front of the door and gives him a look, Herobrine shoves the door open, becoming distressed.

"What is wrong? Why do you not speak?" He says, his voice becoming rougher and less composed. Still, Steve remains silent.

On the way back home, Herobrine continues trying to get Steve to talk, and Steve keeps ignoring him, to the point where Herobrine just follows behind Steve, expression lost. He keeps trying to figure out what's wrong, to find a clue as to why Steve won't speak.

When they reach the house, Steve grabs a piece of paper, takes a stick of charcoal, and writes a single sentence. Herobrine waits by the door, shifting every few seconds in anticipation.

Steve hands him the note, and Herobrine's eyes widen when he reads it.

_I can be cruel too. I'm ignoring you for that until I see fit._

As a flurry of apologies leave Herobrine's mouth, Steve smiles to himself. This'll be fun.


	9. Tour Guide

**Thank you all so much for your support, whether you favorited/followed or reviewed or even if you've just read my silly little stories, thank you! I didn't mean for the next chapter to take so long. There's a lot to do in Minecraft, after all, I should be able to come up with stuff.**

**To the guest who wanted me to incorporate some sort of fabric work into one of the chapters, I think I know just the way, so look out for that. It might be next chapter, or maybe the one after that.**

**Which brings up another thing I wanted to say: If you want to see something specific, either super fluffy or incredibly dark, feel free to ask and I just might do it. Just another way to get some ideas flowin'!**

**Also, good luck figuring out who the two builders are. I did have two actual people in mind for them.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"I'd like to show you something," Herobrine says, completely out of the blue. From his spot on a chair, Steve sets down one of the books Herobrine had brought him from a stronghold.

"You do?"

"Yes. Come." Steve scrambles out of the chair when Herobrine turns and walks out the door, eager to find out what his surprise is. He grabs his bag on the way out, just in case—with Herobrine, he can never fail to be prepared for anything and everything.

"Wait, do we have to teleport?" Steve asks suspiciously, slowing down while getting ready to bolt back into the house and not come out again if Herobrine's answer is yes.

"Yes."

Steve turns right around and starts walking back to the house, but a strong grip on his bag stops him in his tracks. Try as he might, the grip is impossible to break. He sighs and turns around.

"Walking would be futile. The distance is too great." Herobrine tries to explain, but Steve's heard it all before.

"Yeah okay. Why can't you ever find something cool that's within walking distance?"

"Do you not like adventure?"

"Well I don't like the walking part," he mumbles, but Herobrine hears him anyway. He sighs again and braces himself as Herobrine puts a hand on his shoulder.

When the world is right again, he opens his eyes expecting brightness, but there is only darkness. One solitary redstone torch sheds dim light around the large cave they apparently appeared in.

"Where are we?"

"Almost to our destination."

Herobrine is standing next to a Nether portal. The moment Steve sees that shiny obsidian he's shaking his head no. "Nope, not happening. No way am I going in _there_."

"Come now, the Nether is not so horrible. Hot, yes, but you get used to it."

"Maybe _you_ get used to it, you're not human! And you live there!"

"I—while that is true, it does not invalidate my point. Trust me, you'll be fine."

Steve puts his head in his hands and laments about what his life has become.

He enters the portal reluctantly. Herobrine hops in beside him and they let the portal work its strange magic. Just another reason traveling to the Nether sucks—that sick feeling that comes with teleporting hits fast and hard.

When it clears for the second time, the air is noticeably hotter and fire crackles from every direction. No mistaking where they are now.

The air is hard to breath in, a stark contrast from the cool, crisp air of the Overworld. Steve takes some deep breaths, trying to get used to such heavy, hot air, but his efforts are for naught when he finally looks around and sees something that takes his breath away.

A fortress, or more accurately, a castle. Maybe at one point in time it had been a fortress, but the newer structure has been built on top of it and around it in a spectacular manner, the intricacies melding well with the previous fortress's natural structure. In sits in and atop a large mound of netherrack, demanding the attention of all who discover it. Stone and interestingly enough, wood, are incorporated strongly into the design, as well as obsidian, the shining black material like icing on a cake—the castle looks intimidating.

And amazing.

"Woooow!" Steve says in awe, his inner adventurer giddy at the thought of exploring such a massive, mysterious place. "What is this place?"

"This is my home."

Steve's jaw actually drops. "You got to be kidding me."

"I...no, I wouldn't—"

Steve shakes his head. Someday Herobrine would begin to understand human idioms and humor...just not today. "I was just joking. Honestly? I probably should have assumed you'd live in a place like this. It's truly amazing."

Herobrine comes to stand next to Steve, observing the large castle as well despite having see it inside and out for several centuries. "Yes, I was very pleased by how it turned out. I had chosen its builders very specifically."

"Really? Who?"

Herobrine glances at him. "I cannot tell you who but I can tell you why. I chose two builders specifically for their design abilities. One I had observed and found I agreed very strongly with his tastes. He liked to incorporate obsidian and darker materials into his builds, and I very much liked his style. The second didn't usually use those same materials, but he could use a wide variety of colors and make them match expertly. He focused a lot on detail, especially on interior, whereas the other focused more on the building as a whole. I figure that both of them could come up with a house grand and worthy enough for me, and I was right."

Steve might as well have stars shining in his eyes. "Really? Wow that's so cool. How did you get them to do it?"

Herobrine smiles. "I threatened their lives and the lives of everyone they loved."

"That's...well that's about what I expected," Steve says, hiking his bag higher onto his shoulder. At least Herobrine can find humor in his past, judging by the way he said that.

"Can we check it out?" Steve asks. When Herobrine reaches for him, Steve steps back, holding his hands up. "Wait! Can't we walk?" He gestures towards the clearly visible and very much in tact bridge. Jeez, could one guy be so teleportation happy?

"If you want, sure," Herobrine concedes, walking towards the bridge. Having seen everything around his home before, he doesn't waste time sight seeing, but Steve lags behind, taking in the deadly beauty of the Nether.

Steve's never been to the Nether before. He's heard of it before, in stories, but he's never been to it. He's never even tried making a portal before, though he does know how. There just hadn't been any desire to, but seeing it now...it's pretty amazing.

Like the Overworld, there are large pools, but unlike the Overworld, those pools are made entirely of lava. It flows in waterfalls down, creating glowing red hot streams that just add to the atmosphere. The land itself is so unique and different from what he's so used to seeing; it's like there's no order, no rhyme or reason to the way the land is generated. From floating blocks to massive lava oceans, the Nether is one place he'd never of thought he'd be glad to see.

The bridge is a mighty curved affair, having been built more for looks than for functionality. In fact, he's so captivated by the world around him, he misses Herobrine's outstretched hand until he bumps into it.

"Careful," Herobrine says, and Steve sees that the bridge has some missing steps. Herobrine and him step around them.

"Why is it broken? Shouldn't you fix it?"

Herobrine shrugs. "It was built broken." Not like he ever uses the bridge anyway. With the ability to teleport, walking's become a laughable inconvenience.

"Well that's kinda silly," Steve says, hopping over a few more gaps. They're not very big, but to him it doesn't make sense. It does look good, but what if someone falls through?

"I don't mind. I never walk the bridge, for I have no need."

Steve nods to himself. That is true.

When they get to the entrance, Steve thinks maybe the large doors have never been moved before, because how could they? Made of obsidian and stone, no one would be able to open such large and heavy doors.

Except for Herobrine, and now he's starting to see why this castle had been built the way it is. It had been tailored to its owner.

The door doesn't stand a chance. Herobrine appears to barely push, and yet it creeks open easily. It's quite impressive.

If even possible, the inside is more spectacular and amazing than the outside. Whereas the outside had been designed to look strict and clean, the inside is an explosion of colors and detail. One thing Steve's noticed in his short time in the Nether is the prevalence and domination of the color red. And that theme continues with the interior of the castle. Red carpet lines the floor, leading off into adjacent hallways. A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the entrance hall, a mix of fence, what looks like glass panes, and glowstone. It makes for a beautiful ornament to accent the room. A few tables line the walls near the door, various flowers somehow alive and vibrant in clay pots. Though the building's exterior had only some wood, the inside is primarily wood, with stone bricks intricately woven through the designs on the walls.

Opposite the door, a large and colorful glass window sits, landscape depicted within. It looked like...the Overworld? Maybe a plains biome?

"At the time I asked them to build this, I had little desire to be in the Overworld because of the humans I hated so. But I knew I would miss the Overworld itself. Though I had little care for it's people, the Overworld is a place I always feel welcome to and consider my true home," Herobrine says quietly. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, in sympathy.

"I'd say you're always welcomed there." Steve looks around some more, something about the two builders Herobrine had described nagging at him.

"So...these builders you were talking about..." He starts. Herobrine turns to him. "Are they anything like the people you went to for redstone advice?"

Herobrine smiles, letting that tell Steve his answer. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he couldn't speak about those people. However, Steve is very perceptive to have remembered that and figured out that yes, the people he'd contracted to build his Nether castle years and years ago had also helped him build that farm so recently.

"So, what, they're...immortal? Or something? Like you?"

_More like you_, Herobrine thinks. It takes all of his considerable control over himself to not say that, though he so badly wants to. What a shock that would be. Most likely, as humans tend to do, he'd laugh and say what a funny joke that is, outright denying the truth of his existence. Although perhaps, in Steve's case, he cannot be faulted for something he does not even know about himself. Maybe someday Herobrine will tell him, but that day is not today. A shame, really.

"If you remember that, then you must also remember that I cannot speak of it." Herobrine shrugs but his face says it all.

"Right...well, their skills at building are incredible. I've never seen such a grand building before. Most of the villages I used to visit had similar buildings, depending on their function. It's kinda weird, actually," Steve adds in a mumble.

"Quite the coincidence," Herobrine agrees, and steers the topic back towards the castle and away from something so sensitive. Even though he used to enjoy and even anticipate lying to and toying with humans; now, he doesn't feel right lying to his friend's face. "Shall we visit the rest of the castle?" He says, gesturing towards the left hall. Steve smiles and nods, thankfully dropping the conversation.

The rest of the castle is just as marvelous as the entrance hall. There are a lot of small, empty rooms, which Herobrine explains are just for looks and not for use, to provide stability to the build. The part of the castle they entered from the left hall doesn't appear to have ever been used. Though there are chests, they are empty as well.

Still, the sights are something to behold, and even more so when they walk the halls on the right. Like the left, a lot of the first rooms are empty, but then they come to the section of the castle Herobrine actually uses.

One room the size of four smaller rooms is filled with nothing but chests, stacked on top of each other and lining the entire room.

Steve assumes, based on his own chest organization methods, that some of the chests would have been filled with important, useful items, like ores, materials, things like that. Maybe a few other chests would have random, strange items.

This is not the case.

Every single chest is filled to the brim with as much as it can handle. None of it is organized.

"How do you live like this?" Steve asks in shock, going through the many chests and having his mind blown again and again.

"I do not use many of these items. They are things I have collected over my many years alive."

"So how do you have so much stuff?"

"I..." Well, he doesn't want to lie anymore. "Some of it I collected myself. Most of it I stole from humans."

"Really?" Steve says, his react luckily not disgusted or angered. He seems more amused than anything.

"Yes..." _Please don't ask, please don't ask—_

"You never did that to me, did you?"

Herobrine says nothing, he simply looks at Steve, whose smile turns from amused to suspicious. "Did you?"

"..."

"_Did you?"_

Placing his hands behind his back, Herobrine turns and starts walking away. "Why don't we see the rest?"

"I can't believe it, you _did!_" Steve says, running in front of Herobrine and crowding him back towards the chests. "You stole from me!"

"Only a small, insignificant amount," Herobrine defends, holding his fingers together about an inch apart.

"I can't believe you!" Steve exclaims, but there's a smile on his face. "You jerk, what'd you take that's so 'insignificant?'"

Behind his back, Herobrine's hands twist together nervously. "Some...diamonds, maybe?"

Steve shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips and cocking a brow. "Have you something to say?"

Somewhat uncharacteristically, he's starting to feel like a chastised child having been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Yes, he did steal from Steve, when they first met. He'd go to Steve's chests during the night and take some diamonds, some iron and emeralds and other valuable materials. Not too many at once, but his visits probably added up. Not that he had cared.

"An apology is in order, I suppose? Well, my apologies. Will you ever forgive me?" Herobrine says, bowing low as if addressing a person of power. Not something he'd ever do in actuality, but to humor a friend, yes.

"Well, I guess all is forgiven," Steve says with a laugh, gesturing him back up.

They leave the chest room, Herobrine thinking in the back of his mind to return the stolen goods. Truthfully, he'd completely forgotten about that. In recent years, the most time he'd spent in his castle had been to drop items off before he went back to the Overworld, eager to frighten and massacre more people. Since befriending Steve, his castle has been sitting, gathering dust. His teleportation not only works on him and others, but on items as well, giving him the ability to summon whatever he needs to him, even across dimensions. Quite handy.

At one point, when they have explored everything about the castle and begin heading back to the portal, they find their paths blocked by a drove of a creature Steve has never seen before, but what Herobrine knows to be zombie pigmen.

"What are they?" Steve asks, having slowed to a stop a number of blocks away. Herobrine observes the stupid mobs for a few seconds.

"They are zombie pigmen, and as long as you don't hit them, they're harmless. And as long as you're with me, they won't attack, even when hit."

"Zombie pigmen? How...how did they even..." Steve can't even ask the question, it's so ridiculous. Not only are they zombies—evident in their sickly green discolored skin and vacant expressions—but pigmen? Pigs that are men or men that are pigs?

"How do any of us exist? We cannot choose who we are," Herobrine offers.

Steve nods and keeps Herobrine between himself and the pigmen, just in case. "I guess that makes sense."

They return to the portal safely, thankfully not encountering any more mobs. Herobrine secretly is glad for this fact. The mobs of the Overworld are easy to sway, but the mobs of the Nether are harder. The pigmen are easy, the magma cubes as well, but the ghasts, wither skeletons, and blazes are a fair bit harder to control. He probably should have mentioned that to Steve at some point, but since they didn't come across a ghast...maybe next time.

Through some strange time distortion between dimensions, the afternoon of when they'd left has become early morning, with the sun just about to rise over the horizon. Steve drops his bag onto the floor when he gets home before falling into bed, groaning over his sore feet. "Walking sucks," he mumbles into his pillow.

"That is why I do not do it," Herobrine says. He stands by the door, waiting for Steve to fall asleep before he takes his leave.

"Yeah yeah, you and your evil dumb teleportation," the miner says, waving his hand dismissively at Herobrine but keeping his head down. A few moments later he's asleep.

Herobrine smiles at his friend before making good on his promise. When Steve wakes up, there'll be a stack of diamonds and some surprises there waiting for him.


	10. No One Understands

**I do not have and never have had any intention of making their relationship go beyond friendship, even though I am not opposed to that idea. Perhaps, one day, I will make a collection of ficlets like this where that is the case, but I will keep this series platonic only. It may seem like they are more to each other than friends at times, and you may make of that as you wish. Just keep in mind that they only have each other for friendship and company, so of course they care about the well being and feelings of the other. And in Herobrine's case, of course he'd want to protect someone weaker than himself, since he has the ability to.**

**WARNING: there is blood in this chapter, and stabbing**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Rain pelts the wooden roof hard. Wind rattles the house to its foundation. The cows moo sadly, huddled together as they are for warmth. The sheep and the chickens are not much different, suffering unhappily in the pouring rain and wondering why their caretakers are not there to help them. The poor flowers and plants scattered around the house cling desperately to the ground by their roots.

Storms rarely hit forest biomes, and never do they strike which such intensity and ferocity. Perhaps, mother nature knows of the quiet fury that resides within the very house being battered.

The house is a beacon of light and warmth, a stark contrast to the emotions of the figure inside. He sits, back straight and face blank as he watches over another figure laying still on a bed. Though he looks as still as a statue, his body is rocked by small, hardly noticeable tremors, brought about by extreme and burning emotion. The rise and fall of his charge's chest should have been like a balm to him, but by the glow of the roaring fire the sight of bone white bandages becomes an ugly reminder of just what condition his friend has fallen into.

Though from the outside the house looks like normal, the inside is a disaster. Tables are flipped on their sides, potted plants are laying, broken, on the floor. Dried blood is splattered on the floor, as well as around the bed and on his own hands and clothes too. He ignores all of it as he guards his friend intently.

For perhaps the first time, his anger is nearly overshadowed by a great guilt and crippling anguish. He _never_ should have left Steve's side in that fortress...

* * *

Herobrine stands, watching calmly and patiently for Steve to hurry along. The miner has a tendency to become distracted by the most miniscule of details. To Herobrine, what they are about to attempt is outright madness, but Steve insists they return. The Nether is dangerous, and to spend any extended amount of time there is a certified death wish. Herobrine remembers watching clueless humans stumble through his Nether portal and immediately embrace death, either by agitating a pigman or meeting a ghast's fireball with their face. Some even fell off cliffs and burned alive. Their screams might have been like a soothing lullaby, but now he questions whether he had been mentally unstable back then. Befriending Steve has brought him back to the reality that is caring for someone other than himself.

"Hurry up, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave," Herobrine urges, crowding Steve into the portal. They're in the cave again, the single redstone torch throwing strange red shadows around the walls. Talk about atmospheric lighting.

"What's the hurry?" Steve says nonchalantly, closing his eyes as the portal transports them to the Nether. As the world becomes dark and red and hot, he's reminded to ask Herobrine how the portals work, but for now he's satisfied with his curiosity.

The castle remains a grand sight to behold, standing tall atop the mountain. Its size alone is outstanding, nevermind all the careful and loving detail that had clearly been put into it. He wishes he could talk with these mysterious builders Herobrine had contracted, but he knows that if he is, he's going to have to find them himself, and judging by Herobrine's words about their location, it's probably impossible to find them. Oh well.

"The 'hurry' is that the Nether has mobs that I cannot guarantee control of. The pigmen and the cubes are easy, but the others will not be swayed so." Herobrine acts like Steve's shadow, never more than a foot behind the miner. His diamond sword gleams in his hand, ready to deflect any incoming fireballs.

"We...can worry about that when we get to a fortress. _If_ we get to a fortress," Steve corrects. Herobrine has told him that fortresses are few and far between. Hopefully they can find one.

In the interest of exploration, Steve had asked Herobrine if they could look for a Nether fortress. His outright answer had been a hard no, but Steve convinced him with 'puppy dog eyes,' something he'd been happy to see Herobrine wasn't immune to. Strangely, Herobrine spent their entire walk to the portal trying to dissuade him from continuing, which of course only intrigued Steve more. What could possibly be so bad about the Nether to make the almighty Herobrine actively worry? Steve's eager to find out.

While he enjoys the sights of the unusual land generation of the Nether, Herobrine internally hopes they don't find a fortress. Having previously called the Nether his home, he of course knows the locations of all fortresses within a hundred or so blocks, and it seems, to his dismay, that Steve's natural adventurer instincts are leading them straight for one. Just his luck. When he knows they're close, he exerts more energy into extending the length of which his presence reaches. Hopefully, being so far away, any blazes or wither skeletons will suddenly get just enough of an impulse to leave. Hopefully, he'll be able to keep some of the mobs away.

At least they haven't encountered any ghasts yet. He wonders how long his luck will hold out for.

Steve can't be happier when he reaches the top of a small mound of netherrack and sees a large pillar of dark purple material, which he knows to be nether brick from Herobrine's castle. When he turns to Herobrine, an excitement in his eyes he can't hide, Herobrine sighs deeply before teleporting them up to it.

Not even annoyed at having been teleported, Steve gazes in awe and a little bit of giddiness at the amazing structure they've found.

"You've been to fortresses before, right?" Steve asks, watching as Herobrine looks around, his expression pinched.

"Yes, several times. They are truly nothing special, perhaps we should leave now that we've seen it." His efforts to convince Steve away from the fortress seem only to push the miner towards it.

"'Seen it?'" Steve repeats, his face showing clear skepticism. "We only _just_ got here, no way I'm leaving without exploring a little." He watches Herobrine's twitchy movements for a few moments before throwing his hands up, having had enough. "Okay, what's got you so wound up? You've been edgy ever since I proposed this idea." Steve crosses his arms and taps his foot, waiting for an answer.

Herobrine glances at Steve before going back to scouting the air for ghasts while also keeping an eye on the ground for skeletons and blazes. "I've already said my piece. The mobs here do not respond like the ones in the Overworld, as much as I hate it, and it takes a substantial amount of energy to force them away." He stops in his obsessive scouting and turns to look at Steve, completely serious when he says, "I don't want you to get hurt. The Nether is unpredictable."

Steve smiles kindly and pats Herobrine on the shoulder. "Nothing will happen, and I promise we can leave if I'm proven wrong. I swear," he adds, holding his hand over his heart at Herobrine's skeptical look. The gesture eases Herobrine somewhat.

"I will hold—" He's interrupted by a loud and unsettlingly inhuman screech, and then the sound of a fireball heading right for them. Herobrine whips around to see a ghast floating not too far away, its crying, sad face turning momentarily hostile as it shoots another fireball at them.

Pushing Steve away, he waits for the right moment to swing his sword in a wide arc that catches the fireball in just the right way to make it deflect back at the ghast, instead hitting the second fireball. A third emerges from amidst the explosion, and this time, Herobrine aims for the ghast. The fireball strikes true, and the ghast makes an ugly sound as it disintegrates.

He turns back around to see Steve staring at him with wide and, thankfully, frightened eyes. Maybe they will be leaving sooner rather than later. "I will hold you to that."

"Y-Yeah," Steve stutters, gulping as Herobrine shakes molten lava off his sword like it's nothing, "Like I s-said, everything will be fine."

Unfortunately, the terror of seeing a ghast does nothing to dissuade Steve from exploring more of the fortress, so Herobrine trudges along behind his friend, annoyed at human persistence and ready to defend them both from any wither skeletons or blazes too stupid to listen to him.

They find a lot that fascinates Steve and bores Herobrine. It's hard to be intrigued by things he's seen enough of already. Still, it is nice seeing his friend look so genuinely excited about exploring and miraculously, this adventure's playing out better than their desert temple one.

They do come across one blaze when Steve rounds a corner and bumps face first into it. The mob lights its self on fire, the telltale sign that it's about to shoot, and Herobrine steps in front of Steve, blocking all three shots of fire before slicing the mob clean in half. All but one of the glowing yellow rods that made up its body remain, and Herobrine tosses it to Steve, who gives a shout of confused fear.

"What is this?" Considering it'd been just on fire, Steve might have thought it'd be hot to the touch, but the rod is mysteriously cool.

"It is a blaze rod. You must crush it and sprinkle the dust onto an enderpearl to create an eye of ender, which is the only way for humans to find a stronghold. It will lead the bearer to the closest stronghold it can find."

"Wow," Steve whispers to himself, putting the blaze rod in his bag for safe keeping. He then smiles and thanks Herobrine for saving his life—again—before continuing on his way.

The winding halls contain a few secret chests, as Steve discovers. Most are filled with gold ingots and some gold swords. He takes the gold and leaves the swords, and one of the chests contains two diamonds, a pleasant surprise.

After walking down a long set of stairs, Steve sees from the corner of his eye bright red, and turns to see a strange...plant?...growing out of some soulsand. They almost look like carrots, expect red and gross.

"What is it?" Steve asks, and Herobrine lifts an eyebrow.

"You don't recognize it?" Steve shrugs. "It is nether wart." At Steve's blank face, Herobrine explains further. "You used it to make potions. It is the first thing you put in a brewing stand."

"Oh—really? This stuff?" He reaches out and touches one of the long stalks. The texture is rough and yet squishy. "It doesn't look like it."

"Here." Herobrine swipes his sword through the nether wart, chopping the good part off and the leaving the bottoms to die and regrow. He hands some to Steve. "You can grow them yourself, but you will need soulsand. Remind me to bring you some when we get back."

"Sure thing."

After finally having explored the fortress as much as they possibly could have, Herobrine is eager to leave. They return to the larger open area they had started on, and Herobrine can almost see the portal with his superior eyesight.

Another ghast rounds the corner, noticing them standing there and ignoring Herobrine completely, shooting a fireball at the only living thing it detects. Herobrine once again deflects each fireball until the ghast dies, but the last rogue fireball strikes the ground and breaks a hole in the flooring. No longer in immediate threat, Herobrine relaxes.

"What are those things? Are those the ghasts?" Steve asks, coming up behind him. Herobrine eyes a ghast a little further out, waiting for it to disappear behind a cliff before answering.

"Yes, those are ghasts. They fly around and look for any humans to attack, should one find his- or herself in the Nether. I have seen them kill many humans in my life, and they have even attacked me on occasion. And as you just saw, sending their fireballs back at them is the most efficient way to kill them. Otherwise, you'd need a lot of arrows."

"And the yellow one—o-on fire? That's a blaze?"

"Correct."

"So, the only mob we haven't seen that could be a problem are the wither skeletons."

"Yes, which is why I would like to leave."

"Really? Maybe...I guess we can go. I don't want to meet one, especially after the one you brought to the Overworld to scare me with, jerk." Steve says, glaring at Herobrine.

"You're not still mad about that, are you?" Herobrine asks, resting his sword on his shoulder, most likely not realizing that it makes him look twice as intimidating. Steve pauses for a few moments.

"...No. No I'm not still mad," he says, the picture of innocence. He knows Herobrine would never hurt him, but still, he's _Herobrine._ He isn't exactly known for his charitable deeds.

The sound of a blaze interrupts them, and Herobrine sighs. "We will not be returning here any time soon," he says, annoyed, and Steve shrugs and smiles sheepishly, nervously shuffling in his place while Herobrine walks towards the blaze, his sword dragging roughly against the ground.

The blaze, repulsed by his presence, slowly starts floating down the corridor, reminding him of the times he'd hunt mobs(and humans)for fun—well, for amusement. Humans would never know, but mobs do show, and feel, fear, and it's quite satisfying. The blaze lights itself on fire, preparing to shoot, and before it gets the chance Herobrine lunges forward and strikes the blaze through its core. For a single moment it's like time stands still as Herobrine glares into the blazes eyes as it dies, but he does not have time to relish his victory.

"Herobr—_ah!_"

The call of his name is cut off by a loud and wet gasp, and he turns around, the dissolving remains of the blaze forgotten as he gazes in horror at his friend, a stone sword skewered straight through his midsection and agony in his eyes as they look at him for help. _No._

The wither skeleton, mercilessly, yanks the sword out, and Herobrine is freed from a state of frozen shock by an explosion of red hot fury, the likes of which he's never felt before. The next moment is a blur where he only understands one thought running through his mind amongst the crushing weight of rage within him.

_Save him._

The skeleton is reduced to black dust, and though Steve still lives, his life is slipping away fast. Herobrine's hands shake as he picks his friend up and he forces himself forward. Blood has never bothered him before, and he does not remember feeling so affected by the sight of it after Steve's visit to the village. But now, as it shines cruelly over his skin and clothes and continues pouring from his friend's wound, he doesn't ever want to see it again. The black rage inside him threatens a loss of control, and he savagely pushes back all of his emotions as he teleports them to the portal and then back home. Personal feelings cannot get in the way now. He will worry about keeping his friend alive first. That is priority one.

He feels bad, trailing blood throughout Steve's house, and he hurries to set Steve gently on his bed, wanting to stay with him as long as possible but knowing that he must get bandages and potions. He nearly tears the house apart in his search, and luckily there are potions of healing and regeneration on a shelf by the door. Bandages are also left over from the desert misadventure. He drags a table over to the bed and swipes everything to the floor before collecting the required potions and bandages to spread over the table.

Sometime between having the sword pulled out and arriving back at his house, Steve had passed out, likely from a combination of shock and blood loss. The first thing Herobrine does is uncork a potion of regeneration and carefully but quickly force Steve to drink it, in the hopes that the potion will mend the internal damage. Herobrine doesn't know if he remembers anyone surviving wounds of this nature from potions alone, and that thought circles around his head as he gives Steve the potion of healing next.

Once that is done, he tears Steve's ruined shirt off and throws it with more force than necessary away. The potion of regeneration creates a soft pink glow as it starts healing the damaged skin inside and out. Herobrine reluctantly and hesitantly raises his unresponsive friend to a sitting position so that he may wrap his stomach in clean white bandages. Luckily, the potions have stopped the bleeding, and all that is left of the wound is a sickening and jagged slit, straight through to his back.

Laying Steve back down and covered in blood, Herobrine's legs shake until he falls to his knees, covers his face with his hands, and screams his fury and fear to the world.

* * *

The wind outside subsides, but the clouds and rain remain. Herobrine knows the sun should have been up by now, but through the window the world is dark still. Fitting.

If only Steve would move. If only he'd shift his weight, or get more comfortable, or take a deep breath but he does nothing and it's _killing_ Herobrine. Is his friend okay? He's alive but will he recover? Is there something he's overlooking? All these questions bombard his mind and the only person who can answer them is laying injured and unconscious before him.

He should leave.

He should walk out the door and never come back, so that nothing like this will ever happen again. What could he possibly have been thinking, that he and a mortal could be friends? That they could coexist and live happy lives together? It's an impossibility. People die around him, they always have and this proves they always will. Steve...he's too kind and thoughtful to deserve a friend like him, if he can even call himself Steve's friend anymore. It's _his_ fault this happened, and if he leaves, right now, it'll never happen again.

When he stands the chair makes a horribly loud and annoying grating sound as it scratches along the wood floor. Herobrine looks down at Steve's slack face and feels a wave of resolve hit him. He turns around and walks to the door, but just as he reaches it, his resolve crumbles as fast as it had appeared. He can't leave, and the proof is in his shaking hand as it hovers just over the door handle. He cares too much. What if he leaves and Steve ends up dying? He bites his lip in a show of indecisiveness and looks over his shoulder. It's a hard picture to stomach, what with the bed, floor, and Steve himself covered in a thin dried coating of blood.

He should leave but...where will he go? The Nether is no home to him. The chances that he will find someone like Steve are next to nothing. Steve knew, when they met, just who he was and yet still treated him with a kindness Herobrine had not known before despite Herobrine's deplorable behavior. Steve treated him like an equal, not someone to fear and not someone to pity. Just...someone. And having heard Steve's story, Herobrine knows how he could have done that—because they are the same.

Herobrine rights the chair and takes a seat again. As long as Steve needs him, he'll be here.

The day passes, and even though the sun never showed itself, he knows that night has come again. Steve hasn't moved at all, but Herobrine has hope.

The sun will rise soon again and Herobrine is sitting with his head tilted back at the ceiling when he hears the rustling of cloth. He snaps to attention, wondering if Steve's waking up, but the miner simply takes a deep breath and sighs. However, his hands shift where they had not before, and his breathing comes easier.

He doesn't realize he's sitting at the edge of his seat until he leans back in his chair. That is a good sign. Steve'll be okay. Everything will be right once more. There's still doubt weighing heavily in the back of his mind but he ignores it; his friend is more important.

For the rest of the night and well into the next day, Herobrine sits and watches dutifully over his friend, willing him back to health and smiling as wide as he ever has when Steve's eyes finally open.


End file.
